For his betraying Christ, tonight we are out wren hunting. From this aping of Naboth’s grapery We uproot every elder trace Who fast held as Judas gasped His neck having failed to snap.
Too shy to raise my hand and ask I would rather waddle home damp My sealed thighs bundling soiled strides Hanging loincloth pendent otherwise Far from then now, far as gate-tending Time allows I’m happy asking now. In fact, I’m happy announcing aloud, freed of tact Exactly what denomination of ablution will be afoot in… Read more: Do hands dream?
I watched a mucky sod suddenly sodden with startled starling shadows Knew God. Struck out for new clod, floundered in cod-haunted shallows I imagined dashed ambitions matching my uncapturable mission: Flodden King bonnie King dead, bonfire-fit banner trodden; Napoleon’s modern Army newly modelled useless as quadriremes bottled. You could not accuse this wittering ditherer of… Read more: Secret bonfires
This patch once a brightly-addled field What of that remains now breath-straining ash conceals; Beneath clay layers minute as flea caskets bask rent steels Spurs for steers who faced austerely fearsome spears Muskets pristine and unfired as Wuthering Heights’ hearths. I feel translucent Train lucented-night trains me Draining, sluiced of all remaining memory Straining still… Read more: Worthy remnant
By sheepish weir she appears with ireing fleetness I know in my bones, in my toes, in my throes, I am that hireling she seeks. From the parapet of a threatened nest, the sharkfin impression of a beak Seeks out from wattled thorn and hay and down, to speak confoundingly Of lovers sworn to smothering… Read more: Bottling an ineffable
Alchemisland 
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