Monthly Archives: June 2020

24.06.2020 (carried on from yesterday)

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we follow the path into the forest.

the branches spread and weave like a government slogan.

we fought the mark and bought the bile 

while wild flowers grew and swept the way, by the way, along the wayside and fell. 

we all fall.

it is the fixed point in history.

god is change. 

a great beauty and all that.

at the end of the day 

in line with the face of life

from a table or the table in the middle of eighteen gray houses

we rose in accordance 

developing before becoming laws of the state

heads to hold

i found you sleeping and struggled to carry you 

i find you and i find my brother along the dead run road

i find the air is verbal 

where we gather now is fraught with cryptic messages

i desire to unfurl the gut feels that language lost

failing to call into being 

stifled 

those wee explosions leave me bate and fightless

sin is the lived experience

turned to bone or bony tissue

sup from the verb

the question not intended 

 

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23.06.2020

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we follow the path into the forest.

the branches spread and weave like a government slogan.

we fought the mark and bought the bile 

while wild flowers grew and swept the way, by the way, along the wayside and fell. 

we all fall.

it is the fixed point in history.

god is change. 

a great beauty and all that.

at the end of the day in line with the face of life

from a table or the table in the middle of 

eighteen gray houses

we rose in accordance 

developing before becoming laws of the state

 

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cities (working title) #9

Daylighting our lived arteries which run with the bulls and lunar time. I place our lost contact on hold and pray the only way I know how- eyes rolled deep within my head. Where do we start in the ruins that so many call jewels? Where do we go and how do we teach trapped within the chambers of history? There are lines intersecting and then there are breezes which seem to ghost us, leaving us to doubt our very existence. The phone rings. There is always a phone ringing. The production of wings is now unethical and only the worthy whose lives are scaled back and sanded will rise to the top. I log on and register my disapproval and become ephemeral. My bones turn to water and falls from the sky in heavy burst of contrition.

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11.06.2020

 

we fold and push

paper from one world

to the next

our sentiments are a bleedin heart ache

a crowded room

where i have let myself fall to the wayside

that ditchfull

brimfull

had your fill full

under the goings on

the force of stories

told as humorous

here is the laughing pile

taken to the stocks

some moments before

 

 

 

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Cities (working title) #8

Words are trapped in the rock face, the concrete crevice of urban renewal. We live here, we are it’s blood, we work and die here. Except I am not  or at least was not or might not, I am a blow in, a Dagenham yank. The sky is on fire and the air is cold. “for “I love you” say fuck the police”and the lights go and the baby sleeps. A cop smashes into a traffic light and comes off her horse. They have no right to be there or to bring horses. Love is the chosen eclipse or an act of pedagogy and so is the drowning of colston.  History is not being rewritten, it is being named, it is the great reclamation and where we cast our voices and ears is the stuff of substance. Claudia Rankine declares that “The World is wrong. You can’t put the past behind you. It is buried in you” and she is right. We don’t have to dig up our monsters and cast them in various metals and alabaster. The map is cast and recast into a monstrous reflection.    

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08.06.2020

we throw the gravel to the road

a path appears – first in parts                               a choice 

then in focus 

a poem before experience 

rachel sings in the act of creation 

in the act of denial or refusal 

love is chosen 

offered as lament 

today the poem and songs continue

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