ribs & leaves

You lived in a house drawn
from pencils
we live in a terrace re
assembled from London stocks
An unregulated minute
You turn your apples to bones
the pitch of a public address
bathes children in tarmac
We learn to digest.
We learn organism.
At night babies are delivered.
Shake the immense reciprocal.
we earn to ingest
we earn orgasms
at night holes in the wall are reloaded
counterfeit the global exchange
You are a balcony blistering
with rain. A handshake extended
as a noose.
we pitch the whole pencil
through the paper-like face
of tripped minutes


acid grassland

rotted birch trunks
waves of yellow fungus
this is edge
of a thicket guilty
with solar clods
or lunch kneeling over
scent flicks tail
tongue sticks out
grey body close
                 what’s left behind
           enjambs the freckled twigs
          to snag the washed-out foil
      and wrappers, graceless with sheen
they have built a hedge to stop the slope
the embankment
parallel staves
dead branches between
joggers and hoodies
slip slide
to hide
to hide a rise
which is fair for all
fair for all to see
sheep’s sorrel
mouse-ear hawkweed
small skipper butterfly

mining bees burrow tiny holes in the ground


Glazed Leaf

Your house hung on a branch
You doled out the moss impetus
A partial field cracked on the teeth
The hammock to catch what?
This house hangs on an amphitheatre
A dropped coin catches the gallery
A complete fist cracks on your teeth
She once attempted a hammock
Mixing or glazing them I lowered
Your shoulders
To be at ease, one’s own
Finding and cutting above the eye
to turn it outwards
is still a possible growth
You unclogged the incipient cloud
Teething cumulous, your glowing
tendrils, you heavily fructified
Two red contrails converge
an acute angle in the evening sky
Private debt shoulders into public loss


from the bridge

an arm reaches down
bronze and ivy
a hand on the bricks
ivy leaves separate around the fingers
                                                                        clutch the mould clutch
                                                                        your lip lined with the loss of
bridge leaves
leaf mould in metal
gone at gone over
new earth
new loss
grey membrane peels
to red underlayer
                                                            TH‌‌iS iS FoR
                                                            All THe loST
                                                            LoVeD oNeS
hawks and spits
gathers pace
economically inactive
the green shoots of
                                                                       you take the train to tarnish
                                                                       the leaf-blower’s job
                                                                       HeLLO, this is
                                                                       the fort priced for an ivy reach
gold leaf sprays
on a tag
KeS     TABoo
the greening edge of parallel platforms



bricks grow

out of roots, something
like a snowball

thrown through
the red floor                                  nora duplo 
its brief curling
the houses, the houses
bleach to meet
our clouds
headless the mannequin
torso touching
our ground
in the birdcage sits
a filmy jug and my fingers
stained with beets
my feet squirrel proof
the song cage
such lasts     such lasts     such lasts     to lead
if you took the truculent
branch, if we used our hands
to dig
if you invent the lettered
fork       if we pierce
the bed


Archway tunnel

metal grids guard the entrance
once we could walk through
precise brick geometry
the blues
                                                   once we bricked once we
                                                   stepped over the blue
                                                   no octagon stops the city
                                                   sitting in ivy
an elongated carnivorous mouth
something monstrous
not a monstrance
mister across the teeth                                   mr
m is an orifice
                                                   the office of dried twigs
                                                   administration of feather
                                                   & gravel
the tunnel protects
deposits of dead leaves
                     cur-cur cur cur-cur
wood      pigeons
                                                  are we waiting on the wind?
                                                  nothing kempt
                                                  the air a little greyer than your     
thin birch trunks
bent over
swathed in ivy
over and over
this great garment
wild berried
is not too much to bear
                                                  if we took to learn? if we took to stain
                                                  our thumbs.