a glimpse of the truth
a glimpse of the truth
one of the
lager can set
of the railings,
a greyish membrane
to the sea.
of the frothy sound
of toing and
froing waves and
the smell of
stale human piss
carrying a pebble
in its bill
and lets the stone
for doing this
as it repeats
Gull cry: agent, accessory,
Bearer of obscure code,
Inaccessible punctuations of the sky,
Tonal interjections, hyphens of sound –
Connecting the blind, dumb colour of everything
In the relays of your unreadable sentence.
the endless succession of gods
each leaning forward out of its niche
disappearing into dusk
along the curve of the corridor
our steps tap, random as stars,
the crazy paving of the temple floor
past the imperative faces
disturbing the delinquent dust
sight-seeing in this catacomb
we spy the sightless cats
blank-eyed, specked with gems
clutching each thunderbolt or flower
in secret knowledge their lips curl
pointing skyward underground
in gestures of far-flung design
as if distance was itself a door
past each metonymy or petal
is this the exit we’ve been searching for?
The cries of the distant
can hardly be heard
through the mist.
In the pale intermission
the view becomes
an absence of view.
This new disconnect
floats like soft milk
between hard blocks
where populations live.
No-one lives in the mist
abode of the defunct
they keen and clatter
at the unopened window.
Time-stained, the Viking ship
sails into town across the land
with its figurehead grimacing
with its rows of wreathed warriors.
on the March sea
the container ship
a tiny cage of
wires clipped to
of the horizon
at my feet, the
with its gurgle of
brown foam, the
click of pebble
Walking around the concrete and wire
of the perimeter fence is an exhausting thing
but the dogs need the exercise and so do we.
A bird flies at an acute angle across our oblong path
I see you open a packet of cigarettes and take one out,
the rims of dirt under your nails, it’s dirty work
and the fresh air isn’t enough we need to smoke
and see, disappearing over the tops of pine trees, a white sky
blank as an envelope, with no address, no location.
You speak about your wife expecting the third child
and how the girl does so well in athletics at school;
you look about yourself, as if where we were wasn’t here,
stamping your feet on the forest floor, you walk in a circle
and the dogs pick up your unrest I imagine
moving their ears and their tails in anxious agitation
and you pat, pet them, quite able to prove your humanity
but soon we’ll have to get ourselves back behind the wire
back to the desk, the endless admin, and all the rest.