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