Wednesday, 9 October 2013


everything was quiet
then it became more quiet

for 7 years I lived on the moon
& it never stopped snowing

to this I attribute
my obsession with bridges

which end nowhere,
& begin where they don’t end


turn your collar up
against the snow

“I suppose I knew I’d end up an addict
when they came for my eyes”

back then was a man
with no left arm

sleeve pinned to his jacket
he’d come from Poland, he called my mother “beauty”

but in a good way:
he bought me a Batmobile


“the pills don’t fucking work”
accepts all major credit cards

“that the use of figurative language, as of all other beauties of style, has a constant
tendency towards excess, is an obvious truth which I need not dwell upon”

if only more composers would write for the glass harmonica
it is a terrible truth, but Iain Duncan Smith is an aspect of reality

squirrel on haunches, turns walnut round in paws  /  looks in
on a universe behind a substance the squirrel’s rapped on several times

when I’ve been dilatory putting food out now its look seems to be curiosity:
“where’s the other one, who doesn’t move much but tries to scare the crows away”

another squirrel, tails raised, whirligig
then they come to an understanding & feed together peaceably


there are 777 words
it’s impossible to translate

from moon-language
into moon-language

(the number of words in moon-language
is infinite  /  in 2010 the population of Reykjav√≠k, Iceland, was given as 118,488)

1 day
on the common

I wandered off
don’t know what I was looking for

a “nice lady” found me, brought me back
for 7 years I lived on the moon & it never stopped snowing, not for a single instant

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