a remarkable lion

a remarkable liar told

once an inspiring story

its cornerstone a lion,

built upon storms 

riddled with starlight

peopled by children

its seas full of sails and a north-bearing wind

who bartered his life

in exchange for a bicycle ride down a stony road

in the old town there sat

the witch playing draughts with the goatherd girl

losing three to a single move

how the lion bounded

how the storm blustered

how the story ends

not the same as last time

there's a little red flag

who chose death before dishonor

windsock

a red scarf

I know that empty light
you see it in eyes where the life has left
returned to its frail beginnings

carried here some say by fallen stars
but its unimportant and common
now

I know of no-one to tell
of the playground anger we share
who has forbearance, the quality to lose

there are just too many of us
for this, the low light sputters its fuel
attached to its eternal finger

I know of an an idea that is useless, really
the source long plundered
its evocation, the smallest of breaths

inside of such prayers are the languishing truths of us
the meanest of intentions distilled
the purest dilution of our famous creation

i know of atoms cast out of figured eights
of furnace blasts, of sheets of thick black iron slag
hammered thin a thousand times

of the father and his pantomime, of the mother and her burdens
of the son who wonders of the spark,
who put it there

like any other story
he pulls the red sash from the hole inside him
it stretches out forever
could it ever end

blitzkriek

they descended hard and fast on the trees

stuka boys with lowlevel sneakers

through the long grass 

triumphant 

they spat the stones with bloody mouths

teeth red from feasting

on ornamental plums

who remember,
the conjure woman
lay'd moss in they mouths
briny lips kiss'd close
those shut-up brown eyes
no-one cried

in blue black and white
was twilight
bearing a pickled moon
hard wire traps, good eatin'
old smokes, scutter'd

who holds that hand
no, now - it holds you

poesia

dear gilt angel
catching the light of candles

how fractur'd my thoughts as I am made
to measure actions as sins or necessities

cornering them with recited prayers
or my own reckless versions

even now, my mind weakens
as preternatural truths confound the common

an image of hands
carving your still-flight wings,

your graceful features countenanc'd
by half-lid sightless eyes,

as I am made to affirm all creation
with eyes half-blind

in this building
you are the keystone and the cornerstone
I am the builder

in this life
you are eternal
I am oblivion

intermission

the trick is leaving well enough alone
or leaving them when they've only just discovered you,
(observe)

a movie where, chased by mad harridans, you'll run soundly along streets filled
with parked cars and crumpled newspapers
background music boxing your ears
into submission, admission, admit it
you'll carry then for hours a ringing hum in the core of your being
(listen)

now, below you words appear, formed by the movements of your mouth
in white or yellowed, they appear
then disappear as words from one, as words from others
someone is killed or dragged screaming
from a burning house,
someone knows you've been making love to his wife,
a stiletto hung obliquely in mid-air
and the measure runs out

paraffin hat

besotted by the taste of angels.
glowering jaws shunting winged parts of cathedrals down the gullet.
sir, sullied you are.

your teeth a habitat of vicissitudes strung helplessly across the noontime hour by spheres harmonised and tuned by plunkers. all. everyone.
everything you ever wanted.

right here. below and in shadow.
forever, see?

you can't lift it. it's stuck fast.
with pins. and needles.
held tightly by fingers mercilessly strong.
each knuckle white with strain. admiration for the glutton.
swallowing choirfuls.
pooping out the halos along with
the opportunities of youthful beggars who believed in them.

bye now. have fun.
the end.

born on the black sea

our air is thin and if the blue recedes
we'll have silver and a fine bed of pine needles
our toes folding paper
cranes swans and crickets

here, we push holes into the lime
and springs follow
scratching our nails into the softening clay
aware of ourselves through our fingers
what we discover becomes us

once our poem crumbles
how then the last words inspire our thoughts
all bones and crumpled foolscap
carried away by ants