on tuesday

looking out my bedroom window one remarks on the incredible wildness and strangeness of the world  that everything is alive and pushing towards the sun     all this is true   I remember it in the face of everyone I meet   it is written in the heart of my cats but then Schubert's mum died and punched a great hole through it   in this  and all trees fell in  and you had to bring in the garden   and put the cut jasmine with your family aside   the wilderness alone sits in your living room a terrible void grows within your chairs

a purulent discharge finds a little space    finds a painless rash a motherless rash    an open hand held open finds one finger up    and displays a greying furuncle    what description    but one can't blame Hansie Cronje even though it is all his fault     15 pounds is small beer when you think about it for a cure    — it is one meaningless wrap around the future    and who remembers the infant tear when the nose drops off       drive cankers to the roof of your mouth  and a damned scratch to your groin  that smell   and the drop in weight. . . .        half way through the fixture (going well I thought) a note brought from the captain read. . . throw the game. . .just lose   show not one outward sign don't give a flicker   you win you'll get some ghastly hug    free meals with the open pizza box  and being known   the gnawing kids in front  the furniture or getting smashed a saturday  and you wont get this or any time back . . .throw the game. . .  cut swathes through a green Christian vision         . . . .      you'll die

a fellow sometime back threw over the world for a slave girl   and look where it got him   Bedlam, no really  he wasn't in his right mind when it was all over       or was it the Maudsley   I get tangled up        a scream goes up from one of the wards. . . he never mentioned. . . pissed all up her dress cut out her lines     beg for someone to dial the 3's or 9's   what a catastrophe  and then it was her dad  — what's the story there  —  nothing to say — but by the end she couldn't move —   only her eyes   I write of courage of course in the subjunctive and in the manner of the past     a photo of her as she was    her red hair    up to her locker    as if you didn't look pretty before    all this with the weather   soaked   your pink cheeks   your dress went black    face black now  not from rage  or walking    but from central bronchiolar CA, fool

the most evil things are done for the most desperate reasons    of course I would say that now but you've read the note    I confess that when looking with ardour upon the eateries, broad electric lights and flats      timeless values     and HC [that's Cronje] like all basically godly men  had an anger [rattle chair] and also loved the coin    a contradiction you'll see inherent in the church  if and when you go   for he so loved the world. . . yadda yadda      tickles the I tabernacle to tear it down and make of oneself your own rite    it's for the fun only  or it's for the passage     to distribute the money and take the knocks like a prince    friends of the flesh      body tore up and saw what I did for nothing    saw what she did for five only    and did again till her legs gave out    each of her greenstick breaks made exactly in the image of her dad       light into light made journey with colour  even unto her steps   her time her tracks   put snakes in her womb    poison in her head    into her stomach   an orderly line   so to the jakes

Jesus in conversation was taped to mention    a lovely evening  at last  on nights like this  one can abide being left on the lawn      like some of the most beautiful women on the planet dip in the top field rockring      gather games aloud and swells   the party goes to get some air      what clarity etched a dress or on every leaf the swifts  jolly  the wedding   up the rabbits with exemplary kicks.  black pupiled eyes meet members of the party   friends from former lives     made to be sociable  above the tips of the trees their ears   into