padding out the lopside

in narrowing the search you centred your departure on incoming tracks, it’s the getaway of the wanderer that streams through the open door as it closes, striking off another aspiration – displacing the clean sweep, making even ‘here’ seem precarious, where all is possible in imagination’s intoxication ever upwards

escaping from notice you forfeit belonging for preparations to gatecrash your own introversion, a backwater that flirts with aversion in the form of virtue

invalidating or maybe not, maybe padding out the incompatible to make the most of it’s lopsidedness – if only you had been ahead of your time –

but this drip drip involvement scissors you out of contention, unpicking each step of the way was never a foregone conclusion

and the bane of danger has no last resort, no pedestrian salvation, more a game of pitfall, a recurring banana skin of warning, your own custodian of riddance, good or otherwise

making ready a bewildering self-contract in the style of knack rather than common practise at odds with certainty or simply at odds

thinking you saw the stark contrasts, but not being sure what you were masquerading as

breaking away from ignored obligations you enjoy immunity from high regard – boycotting a gathering of words that represent and rail against your beguilers and detractors uniformly

under your own influence, staggering on these very words you receive unaccommodating clarification to steer those long suffering charges, representatives of infringements, into the shambles where there is no outlet just assessment worship

breaking down the future

a backslide from go-getting, when all looking-forward deserted you, no ladder encroached on your promises

it was one moment after another that proved your enterprise, a spurt of lost ground invigorated your only cause, and from there, where the bright days echo the beeline, cancel all repercussions in the elasticity you call your bearings

one more swipe at the flying start, all in the name of posthaste, disqualifies seriousness before it’s time

and yet you perk up when they bring tears to your eyes

all just another way to show the top layer delusions that there truly is nothing like feeling your way

of course the time of dividing two chairs a pole apart passed without ejecting you from habit

any advance action would again have only amplified expected obstacles

bring on the blanket coverage and restore eleventh hour recoil

putting skates on safety

or call it reducing the padding that alerts a new word to loose knitting,

nobody’s sensitivity abandons characteristics of the approaching grain gone against, settling in with great magnitude, to the satisfaction of all receptions that bring together vaporisation

to produce, in advance, a motion out of unshakable sounds

neither defeated nor abandoned, remember the passage through never desecrates the flame,

but serves the times in a classic obliteration of endeavour, not what would be expected from the unwritten weeding out of the band wagon, the fly on the wall duly written off

for the guesswork in this blinking, squinting buoyancy, opens to the span of strokes transferred for independence,

enjoy the quest in old age when the focal point takes a place in immortality a metre long, with the air of an indisposed hum, spelling periodic, rhythmical substitution

the stereotypical event sets afloat equilibrium as if constancy were a false backlash in the supercharged resolve that converts all cures into fashion accessories timed to explode at maturity, so the thrashing out spreads like wildfire contrary to all foam-filled imaginings

from this perspective any detailed dramatisation, hell-bent on pressing the brook for attention whilst mooning around in reality, adapts

the plight of this concoction

depending on this shakey sign, this stepping-in to appease the tumble in motion is the sweet smell of compulsion acquainting itself with another priority

is there an afterwards to put into effect or can we originate from impassivity

she struck a cord, shifting the background, a craze for exclamation, a treat left just a little too late, which nevertheless throws light on an aptitude for silence

in allotting reception its place in the omission, we lose a chance to leave our careworn utterances behind

living with the evidence or racing to the source of split milk is hardly the point, it’s a matter of kneading, pressing the rent out of shape to salute this brain-teaser of a second chance, knowing only too well it is nothing of the sort

but participating anyway, we are a long way from the kleptomaniac’s ideal you could say

embodied in a knotty plan the trackless deep is distilled, the precious stake in escalation

as we thin out our interest in concoctions that once lay in a bend in the worldwide halting, just shy of arranging unprecedented ladders up to the junction, an ad hoc junction at that, unparalleled or anticipated

at that moment of relief she takes care while trembling in the balance of that outstretched arm waiting to catch the pin if it drops

compliance, at a time like this, misrepresents progress and bursts the seams in high places

the plight…

spot-on or dead right, take your pick

a sobering thought or an amusement arcade of riddles drowning in magnificent detail

an assurance flapping with madcap application

take away fluctuation and quote the gods all the way to touch and go

on all sides a head-on asymmetry, corrugated and cutting, ripples into dynamic pieces

wending this way, taking soundings or spooning ethereal spill into absence

we thought about drawing attention to invisible returns, like a pair of smarty-panters pronouncing a cherished best-selling difference

with no inclination for winning over, with no listeners to contradict or incite, we were layered with distinctions, a chapter and verse to all appearances

carried away by a landslide of farce that wallops motivation and demonstrates against enclosure, the still note of unpromising possession culminating in a discrimination against effort that periodically exposes the hypocrite

a mania for fly-away chance - protect this hackneyed stream -

dip back into the pit, as now and then its studies us to see the state of our history, a place of entertainment, accomplished by burning all the traps

and still we show up, setting another stage with masks, making off with the elbow grease, wearing away caution, if ever there was such a thing

and yet we cannot be dissuaded or caught napping – if we had been prepared, but not for everything, not for the whole illusion, but for those palmy days, a golden age of only hours

then the bright shrink-wrapped fallacy could have discriminated between assuming spot-on ambiguity

(our favourite imprecision is dead right)

and making little, or nothing, of catching the eye of a closing door, speaking of immersion as if it were a misquote and then the real story runs parallel to the catchphrase that rambles on and on and on

a roundtrip: era, lingo

we would not be rewarded for following however unbroken the line, we raked in our traces, mustering attributes of migration

calculating our division or a handful of flight, a time bomb waiting in anticipation of era

original timelines seldom remain as a roundtrip, irreversibly intrinsic, fixed to the core of going next

and the pages turned themselves, being off the scent of intelligence there was a crankiness to memorising conclusion, this visit can plainly illuminate hidden fires, a nudge and a wink lie in wait, a long distance introduction reforms the shape of the ride, chalking up aerial lingo or just putting the words together

spanning the unwritten pipeline

we overstepped each other, in the osmosis that is cooperative wandering, this phrase “a passage to” like a speed bump in my thinking, this was the way we never quite got there, a delivery straddling incredible distances,

we knew our way to most topics, taking into account slants of ponder and pungent tones

there was an urgency to our steps that gave gravity a gestation period, allowing hops and skips to hitchhike on air, this way we were able to ward off redundant burden, balancing one world against another

more than just together, we were onlookers using a magnifying glass as prehistoric tool,

on the rung of this world, far and away the most fictitious u-turn leads to a trophy for disobedience

always a private transfer in suspense, let’s assume, for surprise’s sake, that writing is only one way to queue up, let’s assume we can hang around and face the prospect of disrespect as if it were an honour

tut-tut, I hear you say (did you hear that too?), from the wrong side of insight

but we have let ourselves out of the back door, onto the freeway of unwritten corners, it’s simple, but there again we didn’t expect to be written here, we had other ideas

= = =

pipe down, let chance say no (to the still open) to the green light

both borderline cases of hidden depths

we will ad-lib our swan-song when the time comes, for now our entourage cuts both ways

= = =

we would like to make an enquiry, a close enquiry, we have a leading question, somewhere, there is a naivete to needing to find things, it’s testament to ‘on the’ ‘off chance’ that the relevant fantasy fits all

being in the know, as they say, that’s all very well if meticulous gumption is what you are after, we…, we are clear headed, no padded cells in these minds, just a foretaste of bunkum x blether that passes for limpidity, a caricature of informed circles, a blinding flash to a postage stamp, never forgetting how jiggery-pokery is an assumed watchword for carbon copy slogans

= = =

it must be 3amish, 3.10 to be precise, does that get you frothing at the mouth for 3.15? when this missive will be a little longer, a veritable couplet in disguise, inclined, just a smidgeon, to stopping at nothing, to overthrowing all traditional aids, to standing apart, ill-equipped and nursing insulation, or more likely mothballed in endeavour

gritty captions written between a and b

hugging the clean sheet, agreeing to agree to this fruitful laying down of four corners, acres rupture the seal of refined regrets

the breadth of exaggeration overdoes our deficiencies, it’s not enough to want to divulge, when under our noses snoops our likeness, fresh from ethics, we are agog with vigilance, checking up on reverie as a precaution to loose ends

it’s a question of likening a to b

keep in mind the hit and miss resolution that digs in,

we went further than patting our backs, further than rubbing our hands, it was a prank we played on existence

in the face of nitty-gritty, nothing was rife

we diagnosed ourselves with many complaints, we had:

frame of mind
state of health
walk of life
kilter and fettle

but we decided to press on, those things having nothing to do with our captions, we eked out a direction, re-drawing boundaries between the bait

an appetizer to kissing goodbye to infallibility

and the groundswell of edification raises all entreaties to avoidance, the abstainer’s perceived gridlock is rather the millpond that orients what is vanishing,

evaporating the point we have difficulty finding and yet we know the eclipsed are still there, pinned down as an inappearance or a backward step that nevertheless arrives to break the silence with the sound of knees knocking at the brownie points convention

insignificance holds value dear,

it’s the be-all not the end-all that counts

and then there are the squelchy spoils of ineffability,

ways in for the also-rans

let’s champion falling between two stools

juggernauts at dawn

probability discusses the case, pinning hopes on the background in accordance with genuine conditions, shell-shocked and heedless of foresight she ushers in piffle emanating from the wrong end of the stick – the backroom word is: hold your tongue, for the grapevine enlightens the grindstone at all turns

in defence of halcyon days she winds up finishing off the golden touches, leaving only their indents to smell the roses into pacification – peace talks in the flower beds, the rookie thorn dead set on a duel

midpoint handicap, the difference between being thrown off balance and compensating, it’s a short fall of untrimmed habit, patching up each rung of the stairway, going halves on equal opportunities, agreeing on another time for nowadays, it’s a preview of ‘on the spot’ that dates back to a posthumous eve

unruly light, when will it be dawning again? or is this the terminal knot no-one counts on as we proceed slavishly recurring, the sun’s groupies, in the making of, or hand in hand with, the majority, all pending the next instant to robotically be tricked by drill, permeated becomes addicted becomes tamed and our own winning ways docilely impress the rut

tramlines of behaviour, she too can head, is heading for disorder

lying on her back and watching the juggernaut sweep everyone up into play, the future is close at hand, make a distinction

the apprentice was bound to learn

the overcurious shrink, mothballed in dialect, stipulated that, if left alone, winking would fluster and dwindle, it was a case study undeniably rich in innuendo

for light relief he employed a splinter group, in an array of skimpy theories, to challenge all rocking horses to free-wheeling accomplishments, it turned into a version of mumbo versus jumbo

but whilst undeterred in his knees-up there came news of a gamble he could not resist

let’s say it was a riddle without doubt

so our shrink sent his apprentice, in ultramarine spectacles, to bet on the laughing stock

on his return he coughed up a bulldozer and could no longer contain his levelling qualities

bowling hosannahs at the pessimist

I gave my leapfrog away
amidst an overindulgence of infiltration
quaffing the cud (a picked over vintage)
before flying over yet another baptism
as I worm my way between ciao and ta-ta
in this bumper to bumper bearing
yet my line of sight starts with misdirection and reverts

in submitting to stepping-in
a white flag disarmed,
neutrality at war with the easy-going hatchet
that co-exists alongside most skirmishes
a jabbing avoidance in the ribs, when it’s not free-for-all
can I grapple with self-defence, at the height of assistance?
let’s call it sabotage of my lesser known half-measures

rusting amateur fault lines
easing haste into the next respite

with every sprawl of disused activity
there comes another set of heavy lids
staring into the light of least resistance
for some polished reflection on bombardments
glistening for the stone-deaf
as if there is something always unseen
with consent from the turnkey

yet on the lookout for strings for my puppet
I kept bumping into the downtrodden

thriving on the eviction of all entanglements
ditch the hired derelict
not out of disinterest so much as
having nothing to gain from self-preservation
as merely a hobby
more the improbability of debauchery
a craze for temperance but taking high living to the word

forgiving the mystique that surrounds being ‘out of sorts’
an affront to the hand that shakes
slapping no backs,
embracing cold shoulders
on visiting terms with an aficionado of quietude
still kowtowing to false impressions

faking almost everything
kidding wishful thinking into concocting mirage after mirage
a pushover for disappearance
bunking off from the animated voice-under
a distillation of a vanishing point
fanning those memories that cut to the quick
of any counterattack
having been there too long for consolation

under a smokescreen that glosses over this spur,
there lurks a special case straightening out

jottings strung with nicknames
unadorned with hesitation and offset with sketchbook pathologies,

no standing ovation begrudged the new leaf as it turned

no rituals, just diplomatic well-wishing for the betterment of the under-wing

the other extreme, a variation on beyond, leaving behind additives to carry over unknown fusions that reassemble smithereens for the sake of world-narrowness

and what next? in the composition of threshold

a part payment for the next step, a sort of coast to coast on the doorstep, that sloshes over my boycott

too bad that there is always a tousle with conscience like a wind-up toy at my heels, how far do I need to go to feel safe without rounding up the world for that postponed reunion

like a hot potato in someone else’s hands

always painting the corner into myself
karate chopping the stumbling block
that’ll tide me over
and lend sense to the letter where I’m always out of my depth

not long after

there was a lay off from 'as I now know it'
the alarm raised from its lair
rekindling the knitted-together,
putting right the vamp-up these decisions cause
as havoc plays with cumbersome thinking

the absentminded caretaker of enthusiasms
half-heartedly coaxed back to castles in the air
all attempts to cross-examine these blind spotted clouds
are failing now,
a prolonged case of acting without foresight
letting slip the need to pry into this laxity
a residue of slow-release
put on the kid gloves and spoon-feed this time being

attempt to nuzzle up to deflated dedication and light the touch paper

uncatered for, this head on shoulders knows what well-considered blundering this is

an off-target smattering of some private knowledge to set store by
like the ravings of verdict
a stipulation of infallibility
a condition measured by return

deserted attention ruminating on an ambush of artificial fading
overshadowing the walkie-talkie bravura,
the peep peep, pit-a-pat tang

the paper skate and the lopsided assumption

the paper skate proved an adequate instrument for gaining balance

to throw overboard all nimble embellishments in favour of wrestling with the very pottery of my substance

and for a second, time twitched into neutral
taking no part unless flitting from clue to clew

when a widespread oddity leads a convoy through the dust of ages, a profuse aftermath, fully-fledged by fitful regeneration, dances with a bowled over turnout

a donor of intensity
populates this dome
watering slim chances down to scanty superficiality followed up by a twist of the symbolic arm

unaccustomed as I am to lasting impressions
forget me, lose sight of me

this won’t hamper waterlogging
at a time when a bandage is nothing to boast about
the brain never fancies itself thoughtless
taking any vow up for grabs
with the contempt that organs have for ‘I’
mutiny is but a habit away

earmarked as, or endangered as a safe house is
even tunnel vision must end in the suction consistent with loggerheads

neutralizing the nonessential
a quandary never misses its target
as we liken all clashes
to making no interchangeable sign or conclusion to buck up

the merciless treadmill of a field day
bowling hosannahs at the pessimist
sitting pretty at the best of times
with irksome pastoral distress
stricken by cloud nine
running amok with the nest-egg

dirt-cheap as zero,
there is a way of paying in advance for pittance

and the well-lined resolution
is a parasite to my amends

in the waking of sleeping dogs
there are no sides to take
just some laurels and an eye…

as a disused ploy, it works well
to get the best out of
or to throw off the scent
which is technically the way everyone goes at some time or another

weighted down with sinkage
no brittle set-up sustained can shelve oxygen for better days
an air-conditioned composure upheld, feels remarkably stuffy

any undulation excites my inner-hitman
who condemns another autopsy
anaesthetic against fragility
and prays for a low turn-out of the senses

in this stupor the give away is gooseflesh
biting into the touchpaper that lights anti-freeze

and I may render myself a silhouette
blacked out
understanding extinguished
by living in a hall of mirrors

but let’s not draw attention
rather keep a lookout for witnesses to a pinch of salt, as much is supposed to be taken with

and flummox the choreographer by not sticking to the point
I wouldn’t be caught dead eating my words

let alone sniff at those throw away lines
like a makeshift conversation, which always turns out to be only with myself, an ad hoc addiction

after all I have to protect my red-herring

it’s not difficult to follow a scent
avoiding snares that resemble an emotional breadline

some measly, some crummy faultlessness bears no relation to how it is

a deodorized zenith wouldn’t mop up the slightest puddle in eden
just nip and tuck away the hoax

the drifter's only stunt is removing sand from eyes
and striking out for a dead-end

treating hindrance as a convenient obstruction
and unbalancing any lopsided assumptions

Paused

double parking my burst bubble

aerated to the hilt, there were no pigeonholes left when I arrived, so through the arcade of shuttle I traipsed

to the cranky haunts known by heart

adding footnotes to any caricature

to slink behind the stage-managed
and blow the cover of shadows, perhaps to fudge even that

symptoms mime a certain lack of punctuation leaving fingers crossed

a thingummyjig-ism

did I ever mention coming clean as a speech impediment

in my attempts to get off spiel I still require proof-reading

as I skate on double edged blades / a dishevelled premonition

the apparition that your voice became

with fingers in your ears, attentive fantasies trespassed on each other’s lusts, calling over cautious tributes to lost lovers, from the tannoy of the soul, flexing timely muscles disguised as miracles in the hat and beard so befitting my sensibilities, then at the peak of retreat comes faulty blossoming

when you recite the word ‘shimmering’- shimmering, shimmering – you say, the very ‘mmmm’s’ moved me, layers of light found the sound in you, in that moment I knew that ‘when’ didn’t exist

when you go skating on footnotes
telling it as it is
all punctuation heads for the bottle
perhaps you never had to cross your fingers before a blade
perhaps you never peaked at dishevelment
I’m assuming you cast me to skate upon

talk to the wall
feel the drag that waters me down
and skirts around multiple
self-raising, self-rafting

ever the heavy-handed repent
at the sight of dismantled scaffolding
even you took anatomy lessons just in case
such paper-thin tenacity
signals the carcass to breath
and without splitting silence
into be-and-quiet
your echo retaliates

did you know there is a warrant out for your (in)sensitivities

multiple choice fluency – cancel all sweetnothings
whose plight tacks down ditto
smacks of fake mimicry,
travesty

hit it off
bickering about how even the keel is

in a lopsided rapture
a photo-finish flush with redress

no refund of identity, the ocean can’t be bargained with
or sneezed at

towering over your shortfall

manikin idolised
a second fiddle’s worth of shabbiness
boils down to a
concrete bubble

trip with sincerity

mutually recovered after capsize, let’s pester convention for disenchantment’s narrative, unresolved as it may be

is there still time?

after the illusions of centuries
becoming suspicious of irony in general
retelling excuses to the mortification of someone
to whom everything was miraculous, crouching closest to all the plucky strangers asking for freedoms

scarcity constricts what might appear bittersweet

making a crossing from the minutiae that double parks on my defences

to shooting down
or maybe just frisking, all euphemisms for the direct opposite

and being a dead-ringer for a burst bubble, I wonder if a motley crew of chameleons should learn to diversify

or, before the inevitable, wangle a better deal on costumes

from the not understood, not still standing, point of realisation that to be who you are is not up for debate

in this moment, in this moment only, does I know I as two marks in the alphabet of being

something vague in agreement

uncertainty: the not fully confident, not fully fidentally conned
like the banter between me and em
“oh sure” they say

on the verge of sincerity
is a ledge marked “don’t trip!”
from the sheer face of taunt

I reached no agreement with myself
to succeed in touching

while being inundated with obscurity that melts before wrapped up descriptions of excessive prescience - useful, but interrupted

lurid light shone up through the ground of having to bear

in the early days of holding white you used to fascinate even what was lost to you and still you didn’t understand that interminable pattern

and still I didn’t understand
all this was an attempt to trust something vague

something vague in agreement
vying for inundated, fully confident banter
between, say, a face marked by touch and
a face marked by interruptions shone on understanding,
interminably early, still you verge on bearing all attempts at description, holding used patterns over a ledge so narrow there is no room to trip with sincerity

skewered by a blade of grass

it was then that he told me those conditions
enrolled in uncertainty
kissing the skip in revival
there was really no such thing as a stamping ground
but on converted soil
there existed a malevolent truancy
galloping toward some skill
or other refound starry night

and saying no is as good as any way to keep on -
on the job
road
wagon
hop
hoof
to keep on the halo
with suns constantly
rising “is it still dawning?”
and dawning on you it will be
when a feather looks you in the eye
it’s time to, it’s time to, what is the word I’m looking for?: time to elope, evaporate, envelop and go post yourself

from the dull confines of folded paper, comes a two pronged gift, it means little to the passersby, skewered by some new-fangled dream, clinging onto the customer, perhaps you remember how good I was in the good ol’ days, then again your memory left you behind on Main Street, where else, collapsed into the artery of town, a full scale reminder, if one were needed, of how green the grass is up close, and how many sodding blades make up a lawn, and how provincial it is to write ‘lawn’ and yet we’re happy to tread on something living when we actually have to go somewhere, tum te tum te tum… lots of green stuff squeaking
– “why me?”

but getting back to uncertainty…

underlying afterthoughts, the audacity

such difficulty in touching down

the audacity of mixed feelings

but, but, but

the following reasons are quashed in the face of null:

1. the following reasons in the end did not follow

underlying gestures congeal
tagged onto a set-up
inflicted merely to claim fuse for itself

footnote: step aside, muster disbanded cries

practise perforating the day
inclining it to stages of
heightened procrastination
procras procrass crass
reassembling
incredible afterthoughts asking instructions
of the reserves
the maybe masses
not forgetting that final gaze
on a turned
turned table
an example of postponement like no other

often I mean to smile

instead of being accosted and dubbed into my own language

a cancelled sneer at all
the little thoughts, trotting by on some jaunt

palaver

it was then he told me in uncertain terms

(did I use the word hanker? I wanted to, yes I wanted to)

my latest hovering

pauses lifted into irregular ways,
everything drifted to extremities
as though there was no need
and temptation advertised merely
to prevent what was unavoidable

real pain is but moments away, cringing realities promoted above all else

you set in motion all kinds of leads
and it was this that eventually allowed me to turn back, cutting the fawning mire down
I had come unstuck, endangering a start at stopping

intense as the solution washing inside me

untie either
tether up
since can never faint
I shadow
usual
comparison – felt time deserted I

is it that the world is exhausted?
and irony is no longer conscious of the remains of my latest hovering

and this sound, can you hear it now?

does she mean to say that she is in a room rubbing a piece of paper?

(sounds like she’s sawing it whole)

and this sound, that not writing makes, can you hear it now?

o I know her, she’ll tell it to the pulp, if not you

(taking po notice of your werful feelings)

once a disturbing ‘therefore’ has allowed its possibles to be unwelcomed, you must accept all nothings on the basis of experiment alone, this is hard, yes there is no doubt about that, but if she only said what she meant the situation still might not improve,

as yet this has not been verified, we are hoping to do so within the next week, but there is something of a pinning down problem… what to pin, and on which head

yes, yes, you can tell your story straight, if you must… I did this, I did this, I did this

then I did this, and this and then I got fed-up and went back to doing this… but that still didn’t fulfil me, so I had a go at this and that upset some people over there and so I didn’t exactly stop but I did this in another place where the people over there don’t live

then that this started to upset me, so I went back to the people over there and they were glad that I wasn’t doing this anymore

I’m trying this now, it seems okay for the moment

but when she says things like she’s just sitting in a room writing on a piece of water, I begin to wonder what I am doing this for, even though it seemed okay a moment ago

couldn't you ...

... when you envision the far side of out, dig your yawning during a blizzard, and believe it to be occupied unconventionally in overlapping horizontal whiteout

and

is it not the case that you plead, sometimes, with the atmosphere

on behalf of the yawning side, far from your conventional belief, that the blizzard occupies, in whiteout, the downpour that wears you well, come rain or rain

and is it not also so, that you ply yourself with unravelling, to the point of extrication

taking all the perplexity out of xxx

and

isn’t it simpler to just say what you really mean and not ramble on about

a yawn that pleads for its own sanity daily

a blizzard that plies itself with more zzzz’s

a horizon that hides

a case that has a mild case of case

a dig that downs in one

a

a

a

couldn’t you just say what you really mean?

it was now

colossal costs plundered to size, still I gave no answer, before putting the finishing touches on the tip of the iceberg,

salty last lines turned first, I would be grateful if it was now, even though I have still not discarded all I have grown-out-off

set down in the annals of con, chronologically weeded out from the shallows of systematic abbreviation, a raft of saving graces never touches the sides

and you, again, at the forefront of flourish, knew no cave-in worth its brine

taking a nick out of time, spares only the hour -

a legitimate fluctuation in the life of notch

on account

the plotless plot thickens all by itself in unobservable forgetfulness: come by when you have a spare moment and we’ll piece together from the grounds of intrigue something that more or less resembles a flashback

I could say more of less without recourse to the connoisseur

surely I can recognise something of worth in something of worth

and yet, to be smitten nowadays, is unheard of, but regardless of a word I continue to be enamoured with concealed memories, set in their ways long before cutting off crusts became popular

this leavened way of loving is hardly ideal as a means of lifting above street level

ah but you can breath easy in the unpromised lands of ‘I will’ where all power ranks alongside the positives and it’s hard to maintain ‘being’ the way expectation lauds – even to wallow in neutrality gives all worries a backhander for their troubles, their trembles, as if being in the wrong place at the wrong time were possible

didn’t you hear alarm bells ringing they say, when there is never any sign of anything hollow to begin with

‘For Whom…’ was I silently being summoned to account?

room for one

“from the irresistible moment let’s run a thumb along the spine of overpowering

then by increments of vanquish
undaunted by might

a feat of wakefulness outshines any vertebral
dominance

backless illumination takes it sitting down, where room for one
converts the tripod

to an adjustment in three easy steps:

fine
tune
ing”

“and still you forfeit all reminders and open the shutters onto a developing moment… it’s too soon to tell the difference between fine and fair weather

at any time you could step aside again and be overtaken by dusk, speeding ahead of plural”

the pin of nacle

“coming so soon after ‘again’, adding spice to your already monsoon ridden biography: the hello season

then again, as ‘then again’ only can, you attempt to balance on the pin of nacle, the one turret to topple all greetings

where steady breakdown elicits a modern answer to a rekindled inquiry: you wonder, he wonders, we wonder

do you estimate roughly?

while on course for charted routes, perhaps you will slip the noose or more usefully slink past any ropey looking substances

with flawed exactitude a flake of painstaking leaves something to be desired

and you ask of the view from here that it tips off standing water on how to avert stagnation"

just a tad

“and there you swing on a platitude to end all platitudes, still declaring undying anecdotes the height of hazard

forsworn to tell all, given half a chance or less”

“and purely out of interest, when I say ‘you’ do you know who I mean? or are you still on the rebound from your own anniversary, galloping towards such a date can only mean disaster for any day of the week

being low on initiative plagued the sweetener, whose incentive, whilst being inane, fooled the best of them, until even the oo’s rebelled against their use in such an escapade

time would catch up, no doubt, with the hardy who could neither digitalise their thoughts nor happily slip the word ‘urbane’ into conversation

it takes but a short walk from paradise to put bliss back on the agenda, governed as we are by haunted approximations of felicity

getting high on grace sustained those in the wilderness maybe, as if whilst waiting for the time to come, the time came and went undisturbed

that was no matter to the dealers and wheelers of the uncanny, promising to send forth stocks of agreeableness due to prior warnings from dubious sources

and yet they were found to be pleasant, a touch on the suave-side perhaps, even a little winsome in low light

walking just a tad too tall for the likes of them”

hit the skids

“on bail from the book to end all reading,
it could be so, that the floodgates open to knock-ons that croon a
lament
so unpopular
its hum no longer covers embarrassment”

“my lips are sealed say the waxing fates, determined against all odds, all ends, to head for the bottom of infinity”

“and then along you come, trundling past definitions on your way to skid row, where conditions sought to frequent you”

“from beyond catnap, during the time of lightly, chances were taken, ships sunk and strictures backfired, driven out of place on behalf of wit, a resource keen to disinterest proof”

“at least there might one day be a comeback out of all proportion with return,
amongst the cinders of alphabet, final characters predict dismissal, wearing their pink slips well”

Intercapillary Space

I would like to thank Michael Peverett for inviting me to contribute to Intercapillary Space, follow this link to read a series of poems adapted from this blog.

the once-over

“at the outfitters you ripen into a couple of days ago and if that step back were possible now, these words would not be these or these, but ideas with a history in action”

“a shadow of your former self may be more real than previously imagined, call it luck, perhaps, a gamble you didn’t know you were taking

not some holy walk in the park on weekend-locked Sundays

but more along the lines of an unknown tantrum in power-struggleland, that outpost of stumble”

“underpinned by the telling and the many already told, once upon a time there was nothing left to upon upon

still you cling to once
and for all your ease away from scenario, there is no resounding end”

kit

“when your fill overflows with liberal concern, like a sieve you daydream of less strain"

“with slight emphasis you deduce all it takes to lead down indirect yarns, spinning as you go, collapsing all intolerance in a fold away kitbag that in fact holds less than ‘every single’ but you try not to dwell on unfeasibility

it was possible, yes yes it was, but… and the forever profitable ‘but’ summed up, as always, your exclusion

when in reality it was just a voice with no will of its own, just a pedalling of wares along a production line you didn’t fuel

if it was possible to say yes at the right time only, and I mean only, you can’t imagine what a difference that would make, to the summing and up but also to the emphasis, always the emphasis: the highlighting of, the brightest part of”

“by hollowing out a stretched condition, high wires risk their humble streak for a well intentioned aerialist

from the mounting sidelines, a plea, of sorts,
separates you from your

in this dominant coming of age”

zigzag

switchbacks may be on the incline, my zigzag course through the pliant undergrowth blanched sidesteps in an effort to start back at white

teetering on minimum illumination, idling in front of restraints, even flaunting tick-over as an effective shape-up

in defecting from previous distortions she overlapped herself

it was possible to withstand so much, but how much? when was enough once and for all enough?

set against endurance was exodus clout

having your fill, a supply that makes up for… when it was a great gag, the epitome, no less, of an unrealistic jest

turning

and if first was important you would have said so, I’m sure of that…

she, always in touch, always in two, drawn into barren approaches, like the smooth, dim light that flickered… flick, flick, a whip to any form of celebration…. can you imagine a move made “give me a break” she wanted to say, but “give me” was a stretch for her loopholes, dug at dawn for the everlasting onslaught that we call nowadays, back then you could call it an opening in the wall, she thinks of secret pushovers and winces,

first things first, a skyhook for beginnings or agnostic primaries

then again, was it so bad after all, the falsetto of a double pitched o,

as if never again could a reach be taken so seriously… “follow me” is easy to hear, this is the way: down the road, turn left, life

but if I consider any kind of preamble it would be this: do not under any circumstances rehearse that turning

the word first

on the last night,
I heard myself say again “there was a faddishness to the way you faced first things, almost as if the word first was itself pure whimsy”

yet when bathed in immediacy, the original source received; this was little known or accounted for, both she and you redirected the fleet as a result of being one and the same

the brief (stated elsewhere) said “twenty-four hours, a red rag” no bull

flushing was your only defence in the dredging of adopted distributions; trafficking the allotted details only harbours colossal stances of irrelevance

this day breaks with reckoning

in totting up artificiality she came to the conclusion behind all conclusions, and there, chipping away at vocabulary, in the pick and choose surroundings that make up idea, ran concurrent themes of taking part and taking apart, it was not then known whether fortune shone with the flow or against

apply

a composition in four movements weighs on medley, dusts down corrosion,

gnawing at you from below erasure, comes a shroud

(a sheet, between the three winds)
a flyer for flight

this is how red-eye deprives sight of sleep

you can see through the entire release and scramble,
scrabble indeterminately
for quarters in distant circles

pinned-up in the clearing is the itinerant streak
facing the allusive ideal of Timbuktu

you occupy traits like an arrow

privilege (pilgrimage)

to lay
open, freely hand over to
rescue, a vacancy

you know the unfilled site and call it’s bluff to defeat efforts of shield: in the baffle-ments

there has long since been a lack of spectacle, yet on the stage of hoodwink all connive to nod together

incubating a fable

laying down a fib that skips with shoe-laces, tethers and takes up the slack

giving kink a stay of execution: a punishing mental twist

with a noose around ideas that pester to the point of embarrassment

in a pact, so pale it is beyond fastening, a hybrid of rare perhaps
it is time to junk the linear clobber

for the privilege of medley

uprooting a territory

if you were to say no matter what is read there is a linking disquiet running successive influences
(- to run across an uninterrupted in-flow)
comparable to
or barely different from:
connective powers operating consecutive unease

if you were to say: no matter what we barely suspect
would this alter our reading? or alert our reading of

and this day tugs at appearances, yanks at desires from the brow down

our reading of unease is secure in the knowledge that winging it is a prompt in itself

and these lines learn to track the wrong side

this isn’t the first time you have wandered slang-ways
it was a means of getting back to the subject

[exclaims] and the subject is!
as if we are plot-fed winners and losers

lift

in not knowing you, you existed in the inscription of instant, time lapsed into the back of re

(back when minutes were experts)

but in saying your y’s backwards it was difficult to call attention to something that did not exist, that did not plot a course

a word a
a word a

a word a whole word
all is minute-ly, only

The short-lived pinpoint with interludes

banished to wander on pinpoint
allowing passage through an impermanent needle-eye

in your dropping off early, every ephemeral direction lasts –

listening to compass: instrument of extent
a step half-seen between ground and ground, escorts

simultaneously

brief encounters

you encircled inside, were set aside, by an expression of distraction (drawn apart in novel-ty) a celebration, maybe, of incessant partiality (one-sidedness)

you wanted to write each moment, down to the wire, as if there was always something very brief, yet winning, to express

in this non-stop affair with allusion

it ti ii tt

“the second of two strings (enough existed for there to have been more) surprised pessimism

reading from the long list
holding onto categories
and still

you said “having expected to put down a few notes, you may find yourself blinded by intricacy”””

“the warm irony of neither

remarks devoted to cutting

uncovered eras in push and shove”

“ intricacy can lull if stood for”

“attached to believing in it

attached to it

it”

“it was intricate, it was lulled, it stood for, it uncovered, it pushed, it ironed, it cut…. it era

the it era

two strings it-existed
i
t

to linger between crossing the tees and dotting the iieyes”

“the situation describes a purely ‘negative capability’*, secretly present to the illegibly written, there is no separation between being able to and being”

* “Negative Capability, that is when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” [John Keats letter Dec. 21, 1817]

a close scra

“attacked by mania – is that what is said when disorder paints out witnesses?”

“stopping to think again, think over again, how undecidability is choice under wraps, in excess of that which never stops”

“attached to thinking that what is said paints disorder witness-coloured, bystander tinted – disarray dyed by observation is said to tie thought down”

“pouring together story’s performance, discharges the said tale”

“with strings attributed to together, words attach more than is necessary to give, the allotted granting of what is not always agreed”

“the contingency plan is a…”

“… close scratch”