Cabbage white on the buddleia
Its humble energies of flight
Upside down city
A bird posed in the air
Where nothing is fixed in the eye
A crust of buildings
The difficult it is
Here, the original place?
Brick idyll is only
What fails to disappear
Towerblock Palmyra a column
Hesitates the blue
And here and there each
Self-important head
Drought in the mouth's a
Discussion of insects
A sense of afternoon's
This sober ecstasy of clouds
Poetry in small doses
In oracle language
Emptily dazzled eyes
The readers stand in front, each takes it in turn:
How to travel here without heads?
How to sing
without heads
Into an emptying circle?
It's a piece of a curtain
A bit of a tongue
NO HAND SIGNALS
To go back with
Dignity
under the
Ground
Fell back its
Uneven trajectory
Contented it
self with its echo
So the harmless
Days passed
And the bird swung
down
momently
Am its arrival
Whose claws, here
darken the page
Here I am today feeling empty and kind
And the light struck away from it
Calling it here like a separate sound
Pressed the button marked Plenty
'He's out there gone looking for his favourite word'
'The poet's arrival in the city'
He's puffed with foolish song
'Tarnished famine brilliance'
Self-quoting
Went out to look for more words:
'blood clart police virgin' he's on the bus
He's shouting into an empty phone
Live in a world of your own
A world that you own?
Sheep's head looks down from a shelf
Propped cowfoot
They're only doing their shopping
Each faithful dismembered carcass
I think there is more wealth than I can manage