the cat gets up and walks around the house   make complete     at the top of the stairs bottom
                                                                                                                                                                     of the stairs
  in the attic in the garden    to make enquiries put your finger to her four little paws   look up her name in the cartoon of a serious daily             only memory my soul
  — from city to city through an unknown country   a shrews head  a shrinking bird
bigger, less, me   and my friend alive to party where do you party?
                       sometimes a half criminologist waiting at the gate will let you in
                                                 and sometimes the act rebounds

blue paper, white walls . . .linoleum basin tracks responds its time times up
                          unbearably hot    gypsy water little bloods of green, the garden slugs and snails
                      great number of sparrows autumn pebbles rush cross the beds of streams
the drivers reach/allow some equilibrium with their atonement
drive the empty shell, rattling around the streets on the way out of town, gulp down
   loos for our customers only, you shriek in recognition              we're way out of lavatories now

ride the bus north town with a stone in your heart and everywhere I see waste
   doggie, now keep close
                                       litter of sheds discarded windows vacate and frame some lawn
2 long skinny schoolgirls hanging on each others arm 2 hang on anothers equal arms 2 skinny school girls leaving       zippp          like sparrows     super quick  out out in Penda's dream
   sometime twenty years
         who put to watch yr. blood     beauty who put you to milk
            rough covered with grass,       nettle heads roots      the littlest ends of roots/

 in my pocket a souvenir, ah it wasn't a dream after all
       the monks wrote the poem so too the Kosovans
                         wrote it down the battle for heaven a mans soul
                     wrote it down in the manner of a defeat
so as to we in Percy Ingles      who would could ever forget this

ah but no the tide comes in
what sweet games we played, talking little  till we learned what we were at last
till daddy came home     brought back a little lady, a little gentleman mousy
 you running? I'll stick this one out / They pay me all this money I should keep up the pretence
                         tongue to the cat            a plant in every room
memory as clear as my face in the rear view mirror dazzled in the hyaline glare   to bed or get out of town
a road that stretches describes an almost perfectline bank the canal a boundary un
                                                                                                                                                 to what acreage
a little grass out the Ingrebourne   go Further!
                  low scrub field in winter black finch, past   slopes
     adulterated water to estuary mud
                                                         / a reckoning / of all nights tonight, when I know I should have got something ready,

  back up the road        the screech of tyres
let us sit us down and tell sad stories, that was one filthy turd laid in the fifties