TOX 01 / 02 / 03

Tox wrote it's dust makes   in the heat of the underground a  blizzard of forms willowy like the young women you see about  crazy as wing-ed flies  reptile shape in graffito  gone over

Someone who was passing, a priest? would defend the city for food   would take me up into an attic room     was unfamiliar     yet could wind down around her  childlike  green eyes of a ghost

in the walls now covered in sharp little buds to recognise a car designed to settle a fight with a friend   like a hart sometime being chased by dogs   superhero wrestles an enemy made of steam

signs I read  but that initiate me first    a dog tears into a snickers    I should understand  or intervene  but they are lost in their earnestness   statement upon statement   in that rose London

in your dope mobile    follow corridors of lights   or being rained  or winter      something you are dimly aware is you, the animal you will be next  — that   or the city the animal occasioned

met by accident in light or dark  or where the noise stopped  bitches that previously devoured you       alight at the centre   or at the gate exiting the night   we'll fire them each one   + not just for Tox

same electricity is heaving through the arms by which you made yourself Robert Jones    the laser light that made you younger made him too a manipulator of trees    Myth forms itself to brand

one buddleia fills the country you colonised   from road to road  tunnel to tunnel  he is destroyed even as the inheritors gang up to name you Robert Jones    flowers infiltrate your Christian ways

there is a sign that specially relates to you  though all signs fill a basic 8 shaped space  or make an 8 noise  or gesture of the hand    two loops frozen     + conversation so dense it is written then as 9

'soul' is haunted by this account      makes to the sports grounds just as they fundamentally empty out   into life grass covers her shorts   white faced       don't know if she's ever had the leaving

time is marked in the styles of say  it's autumn you running into someone wearing clothes you remember from a store outa town  now its the 1780's  arm a little thinner  your jaw a little squarer

Tox painted over as a line on the city they pulled down themselves   shaped like that in a cartoon,   flat  but differentiated by purpose    marked you down as a businessman      maybe last invented

the middle guy who did this   a solecism    a denial of the body someone   might think you an enemy with your short hair your three fingers two legs covered in paint  Elament you grass Enroll