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”

scratch, scratch

“stopping to think about the millimetre, the illi in particular, as a way to take my mind off the itch, the bird’s-eye-view itch, that dots no “i”s especially in partIcular, this is mere sidetrack to an unapproachable commentary”

“and what of the scene?”

“the scene is where we fool ourselves taming clouds, running the gauntlet of iridescence”

“docility, a hard act to follow, endorsing the shown method: press play to display"

“still your commentary handled a performance of doubtful antics like a blend of strange and fantastic manners, which in the explaining, lost all sense of impersonation and, as if on a tour of duty, you recruited my side of the story”

“come closer”

“tell it we
we then
we shall, in a one-off tirade incurable in co-operation

- purging consequence of all penalty
- doubling-up the inmates

severing suggestion at idea, at ideal in-deed”

“still your handling of a performance explained side’s side of the story”

“come scratcher”

am azed

“getting straight back to splitting the attempt, you do not stand complete, but elucidate distance from really not so far away -
– if I can describe you to you, it is only in this way, word for word”

“there is no escape from thirst or suspicion of thirst”

“intertwining the inside-out of a writing life, leaving the street unexplored and the one time sacrifice, exceptional through it may have been…”

“returning to water - pages, as long as concerns,

give ceremony new meaning

of course, otherness only lasts until why

having to go, involves a true cross over, outstretched though communication is, there is no scene of accident”

“… amazed, or is a maze (a wall-follower) from all sides, kicking the landing, raging at ceiling, no great revelation could go this swimmingly without a

“scratch of the head”

with a start to all starts
with an out of reach commentary”

strai

“Moving around between confession and humour, suggestion and reconstruction, tame and wild”

“you once said “inscription masks the face that should be ours” – were these the patterns you had spoken of? integrated with made-up intent

there are parallel senses that at different times may coincide

and those times, inhabited by surrounds seeking perception, understand simple choices”

“suggestive confessions”“insects, an open window, onion-skin”

“a writing upon; between us we expanded the ransacked foundations of recall, to achieve contemplation perhaps simply by asking or learning to direct answers away from questions”

“coming clean: returning to water, a little less imaginarily incurable, a little less piecemeal, through your continuous terrain stride minutes chewed by compromise, introducing new dare into the language of cooperation

harsh in echo,
fascinating on paper,
crude in predicament

ah that quandary, always that stickiness

attempting through lack of ability to rough-cast closeness

(you do not think in capital letters)”

“I had read every word twice, underlining the evidence of possibility (straightforward, strai…”

slips

“right now, looking at the ground, distance was the first thing to go, rolling”

“snatch, snatch,
a heightened handshake”

“rolling so far, yet a great intimacy told, hinges on barter”

“disorder gradually stores unanswered necessities – under an unmade bed was a painting of an unmade bed”

“smile, name, ask,”

“hinges resist with such virtuosity the painful patterns – you sketched on a scrap of paper some natural condition, it looked like we could invent initiative or at least a mock-up, practically all the rest of the world was based on mirrors, that is what you said, there was a faddishness to the way you faced first things, almost as if the word first was itself pure whimsy”

“from the sure side of disorder, based solely on a painting that is, it had never actually been witnessed, the sure side gradually laid claim to untaming”

“point of calling, water of time, crawl out from”

“snatch, snatch, grab”

“the ground from a distance, was that something we could be sure of? the slightest whiff of a guarantee convinced even the greats, I had heard you describe slips in right now, they sounded like epigraphs”

“such moments do not take practice”

quiver,

“then you noticed a bringing back, consistent with the postponement of finally – double-decker opponents blew bubbles at each other’s smokescreens”

“a pair of boots, a spoon, some hot water, a drawing pin: ah some inventions still allude us”

“attacked by a suggestion of everything, cool reconstruction of the impossible, a mixup that broke down your persistence – is that why you often did not laugh at the comedy of it all? but opened a compartment, blew smoke into it and called it a lung”

“you said exceptional things can happen, and that whatever fell was on the whole more chaotic than those handmade sincerities… little by li”

“twenty-four hours, a red rag”

“chosen in sleep to feel the palm of replica or is that another story carefully embalmed,

can quiver ever be?"

“arch of one way
cackling truth told
mood making two”

“you said exceptional things… when I go into a dark room there is a man lecturing incredible colours on priorities

such times did sink the long night
it’s not easy to talk about”

this mosaic

“maybe you remember the sacrifice one-sunset threw
like the last party, half-broken from lack of use, lethargically sealing daybreak into afternoon, and do you remember how you tried to be proud

it was the way your hand wrapped around anything left falling which I vaguely recognised

sinking, you would read books overflowing with questions and play content

in a roundabout way sense made since reach within

passing underneath all thinking

coming to, while the others went on; everything had been clothed in trivia, whole chunks of phenomena were brought to bear

and little by little, since you may not remember, this mosaic, disassembled over time”

“moving around between humour and confession, but also making a gradual entry into a silent culture, maybe.. why not… those days so used to trying, so used to imitating, can this be all there is to it? what had taken place in the grooved mania was anything but, then at other times any pillow any familiar vacancy shaken to emptiness

then a paradox: talk is blind”

“leaving the street, stopping, looking at sky, sitting, smoking, stroking hair, inventing sighs, ah this upright life”

“such moments take practice”

one P each

putting in a crouch
where appearances cross
back, forth, float, s
ss..slightly
it was quite natural
to step over steps to narrowness where over is over used

she was convinced the careless were apt to be just the opposite, got-together by surprise, making up dates for days unwritten, as some kind of need that lines paper and limits eople to one P each

who peeks, runs

around does go around

“just the same”, [deafening pause]
“just the same”

… pay lip service to

vowels, the unscaffolded aeiou
lambasting their own clique for
queueing to be certified in Hawaiian: hooiaioia
these record-holders of the consecutive
hop me to the lipogramarians –

feeling a bit constrained I muse on the sometimes absent y
the sigh-born awareness of incomprehension


“Did she say incomprehension?”
“Sorry, can you ask me the question again, I’m not sure I understand.”

… yawn -

a stream of vapour lessons
somersaulting to navel
in a stunt, a veritable feat,
of knack over knack over knack
to…

[somewhere she said: “exhausted by sigh, incomprehensible in translation.”]

to…

pay lip service to…

… does silence mature

into something visible across the grain?
with a table leg each, they smothered taking a stand

(waiting to steadily set off to live a craft)

(to craft a life, to set off, to steadily set off to craft a life, a life set off steadily, craft off set steadily to live)

leading stifle [1387, "to choke, suffocate, drown," of uncertain origin,] astray
as
yawn <
opens
proceedings

… a widely unknown

table, high up (but distinctly not “high table”)
where, as I mentioned, our foursome gather -
they have two routes to go by, (splitting their sides
with shrill humour)

ha ha – by either, or?

or either and or?

evidently some moonlighting takes place
(in the inaccurate notebooks I found this: “things can be achieved in darkness” – it surprised me, being as it was before the table)

(fanatic representation = i plus i minus you)

So back to the exits: http://andinfall.blogspot.com/2007/12/is-it-possible-for-two-to-go-where-one.html

“The opposite of an abbreviation is two going where one cannot.
In its longer form does silence mature?”

… a table for consolation

conversation consoled the elevated nuances of scribble
raising talk to the loft of nonsense

outwardly aimless space is not lost
on one hand
futile behind phoney fingers
tinged with cheat

the gaps between smooth [[[[]]]] flat [[[[]]]] support
widely unknown

… on the receiving end

scribbling “rcsao lowber dammd a pialn”
behind a hand, you complement the travellers who accompany
your delay
, tolerant (not really)
, postponable (always)
, persevering (reallways)

… as yet unfounded

the ground itself is less proven than we think, at a time when we walk two steps further than is necessary to reach the high plateau, to be confronted with a table for consolation, around which, from the beginning, there were four of us

one is on the receiving end, whose natural response, for the time being, is to conceal abilities;

the second, tirelessly perseveres in the name of movement

the third, makes equal by weighing all possibilities

and finally the fourth, when liberated from obligations, quietly follows all inclinations

… just about everything

is mine to hear from this view of ‘somewhere’, itself a chance thrown to opportunity’s casual high, that slightly traceable leaching of glow -

what still escapes her is set firmly in borrowed polish, the gloss of another, rapidly seized upon in a glance

charging wildly down slopes (that allow for no faltering in the nip of snap decision)

at the very edge of calculation, rises a collection point for clues, as yet unfounded

angeregt durch zwischenspurt - short burst/singing

... or sounds as if

"... klingt als ob

du noch irgendwo hingehen könntest, wo unser „gemäßigt glühender Rebell“ ein wenig seichten Eifer erkennen läßt für's Anhalten auf Leuchtreklamen, und doch noch dem Drögen, das schon an dir leckt, entkommst, und auf die Schnelle von der Tünche zum Abhängen und dem Augengeklimper für müde Ohren kommst, schizophren wie halt alles an der Geschichte."

thanks to Sumuze

... which steps me to say: sounds as if

on translating all sides of the story, our rebel, now glowing temperately, reveals, for clues, the light in nevertheless, or in spite of the clues, light reveals her still escapes, which already leak in you or lick at you, on the quickness slopes that snap just about everything

... sounds as if

there is somewhere to go, for our “muffle fervent rebel” vaguely expressing unconventional zeal for

thumbing a lift on tell-tale signs, scampering from a moreish stupor, taking a cut of whitewash to the dawdling hour and clapping eyes on tired ears, schizophrenic on all sides of the story

… of all time

the greatest recurrence of all time
is the dodged pitfall:
a sour-grape say

instead of an unmistakable direction, all the time taking the greatest mistake back to its origins in wrongly taking, or carrying a mis to a shut-eyed bearing

on the way to becoming a muffle fervent rebel presenting a portfolio of sound

… in preparation

[unmistakably;mingle;potent;and;and;the;angular;recurrence;a;stepping-
in;]

an unmistakably potent recurrence
steps in
at an angle to ‘and’
the greatest mingle of all time

… as dwindle knows

pining is an unfulfilled art
prolonged to epic length -

shy away, if you can -

or flounder, with volumes undeclared –

blank page = []

then again, gather up in preparation:

unmistakably;
mingle;
potent;
and; and; the;
angular; recurrence;
a;
stepping-in;

down pens (returns, rebounds and other hesitancies)

“…this page turned its back…”

(if you remember) and is now purposely closed – awaiting prise

(out of bounce
from clog commotion
obstructing regain… )

to salvage what might be there, that is all, nothing spectacular or ground-breakingly radical, just there: in or at that place, where you will find no-one exclusively paying attention to ahem. And in the case of every or any who, there are unrealised exchanges to be had, it’s all a matter of time, as dwindle knows.

do

from the word ‘go’
comes a sieve chartered for Bygones
by Bygones: “go through you hot-headed pastists,
boot-licking yesterday for a taste of ‘I told you so’ ”

embarking on idle
my up-to-the-minute fad
I stay neck-and-neck with myself

while they say: “what have you done donedonedonedonedone?”

missing in inaction

admitting
the stilled throat as clearing, before announcing oasis
that has waited out impersonation
where nobody would guess, even accidentally,
that I seeks I seeks I

as keepsake opening the word again
to a panorama safeguarding hiatus

a reinforced lack
which in this case proves the most positive of deficiencies

waving

I’m offline for a few weeks, bye for now and thank you to those who have been dropping by regularly.

pen

psst!… did you hear that?
a page turned its back

on another introduction

"testing, testing… esting, stinging"

no more impersonations; bends in charm;
waning jumps; unassuming shoves;
revisited mingles;

"testing, testing…"

ahem

en

there was one direction
tapering back to a

chance

whisper

where to read these (graced) notes
I now see

the clumsiness of shadow always remains unfinished

n

any likely step that speaks the last part, skips
a dunking

in the saturated origins of ‘if only’

only is one-like, onelicly, exclusively without inclusion

- an iffy fluke if ever there was one

Open

the vat of utter.

An arm for your thoughts
leaving the penny to cry out in name only.

Of numerous wishes I present a piece
dipped in space.

It was a step like any other.

ope

when nearly at ‘n’
the noted ope_s

while not fully expressed yet, there are no qualms in this particular breach

which masks a cushy gadget
for manufacturing letters

blubhub

with one thwack from a punch-line
the boss-eyed lover
faithful to the unend
filed for desertion
one of the million cures
welded to the joke
that had plunged the boot in
to the not so sporting yin

hubbub

op

to be dreamt away from the page
what a ruse

against mistakes raised by embossed objection

a blade sawing at the truth
has no quibble with thwart

o

noted: the next confusion
“don’t mix relics

or we-with-us”

was written on
one side, noticed on the other

as rigorously inexact as
to be dreamt of

o

, as a fanatic might dig for essential distinctions
the page tempts fixation

until a twang of perception repairs
fallen notes

open

leaving a notebook full of inaccuracies as though
it would never close,

blunt impressions gradually cornered by taboo
rampage delicacy, as a fanatic might

Mr Roget’s T - 203 Length

Adv. longwise,

at full length, a crocodile heels to toe from the crown of tandem to the sole of single file, the foot longitudinally stern, the head in front and behind, overall one end in perspective.

on the run

in permanent flight
carefully shuffled errors in distance, made random almost orderly

like a far-flung jumble, winched to neatness
declaring off the rails detachment

before counting the-picky differences between us

"n

ovelty prevails towards procedure,”:

bloom triumphed on the road, so grateful that ‘towards’ was not merely a word and 'step this way' could be reversed, leaving for'n'backwards to call a truce in direction.

A break in

With such a high-flown knack for pressing questions between pages, gestures in private-journal-speak, as distinguished from prima-donna-ditty, claim a great deal is happening here, but to top that, I must misquote myself when I say “it is not this that varies my aptitude for tatters” but a nestling diagonal stance, winking at compactness from a miscellaneous setting, grappling whodunit proposals like a hinterland tenant with sore happy valley eyes frosted to pimples from parting company at a break in anaemic clouds.

“Vagary expects regular attendance”:

this extravagant action anticipates habitual turnout:

again and again
routine turns in

another of life’s time sheets,
and yet no habit is as forming or formative as anticipation that topples action from its shelf life and spends thrift, frittering away caution.

Way this step

Vagary expects regular attendance, novelty prevails towards procedure, I hand-in the off-hand wishy-wash improvisation: a sort of a: bubblingly impromptu, sloppy with blended aspirations peculiar to open, gates stand their self-oration, fields imagine growing buts. [productive nor productive neither, is often too strifely to come across meeting] circle in a living suited to best mannerisms, picture a completing of suspiciousness, my cantankerous amateur me. [Step this way]

Butterfingers

To say that inclination is rarely threadbare may be so but when dropping a line crowds to a halt, dribs and then drabs funnel towards sabbatical and the hosting of fickle encores complements nothing more than zilch.

Makeshift

Teeming with occasional tantamount-s [there is, sporadically, a little that is equal to the teem within] it is this that varies my aptitude for tatters [by tatters I really do mean the bits and pieces that write themselves into quick comebacks] before the rush of vain smothers in, and I substitute each step with a sprinkling of dedication [which is not up to it, but makes up for], left in close proximity to earlier astonishments [contagious perhaps] and take up intrepid idleness, inventing evidence with which to probe bemusement [morsel collection] – consider the scale of it – with my finger on resist, confident all can be abandoned in place of missing details, a final version of antidote single-handedly absorbs itself.

Downhill rinser

'I' slaloms to 'S' in the cranky wring of self-procrastination

The allusive 'I am'

In the blur of indirectness I am at once within dexterous reach and without conclusion;

– that is to say: being under the influence of meander, I have some handy doubts;

– that is to say: I am allusive when it comes to haze, but if you touch me I won’t end

11

Is it that “I am” was aroused and depended on you to suspend it, or suspend everything else that could only sigh at blind imitation, sighted half in, half out of untroubled lamp light. Sure, there is a saying that doubling the I doesn’t square off any corners, but even so, a rotund imagination helps, if just to roll away with itself.

Are you talking to me?

Crimes against "I am"

1. Misusing a heady cast of selves, you ambitiously tackle a small-time sprawl of divide. On your right: overindulgent flaws, stalled by emotional chaos so stunning it could blind mirrors.

from first to last: the habits of slide

oscillate in articulation
drafted to interrupt
shifting various grounds unfazed
by the readiness of stalemate
to exchange undercover spurts
for methods that fend-off liberation
…every slippage in tone
prompts an inner chatathlon that worries silence
into an unuttered hurl against false breakers

emails

I have had problems receiving email recently, so if anyone has written to me and not received a response, this may be the reason why, please send again if you feel inclined, thanks.

introducing reality

this paper-thin contradiction, cues hoops for jumping
whether bruising for a pinch, teetering before crux or plucked from a cutting edge cocoon,
all are laced with phase

grasping at a brief indulgence of impulse

panacea cast out, in view of mayhem’s lukewarmity
and we,
steeped in posture
clutching at sprees
rustled up a disguise to exploit


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how far

eked out of movement, motion rivals lull
in the fits and starts that fritter truce away
drowsy with progress made,
a soft touch methodically out of step, counts tint down
still in view, revival
rescues flourish with ambiguity
and the longer way perseveres under glass


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they didn’t appear to be gaining

Sapped of pluck, it was time to set loose a slouch
hot on the trail of a pilgrim to sure-footed novelty

skin thinned

- like over-eager eggshell
outlandish remnants
crack me

leave a message

in the shape of
pent up consolation
a crowd stopping plunge bottles up


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Achillies

in high heeled socks
I spike the week’s hot spot

uncommon ground

whoever survives
a (this) point of view
overhears revival
describe unofficial
freedom as “the to and fro
of lost threads”

stay

when the solid river is
out of your hands
it is
not time
to make enquiries of push

can you say that again

when the point of finding the point
pierces,
it sharpens the ear

gulp

marooned on the banks of likelihood,
an accessory to luck
swallows facts
that fly in the face of

eh

scintillating as dabble is, let’s err on the side of cavortion

the e

as this chapter spills
out of in-
terim, extrication
prowls
the perimeters of epilogue

wardrobe life

old clothes narrate the flotsam of infit
odds and ends of sleeve
reel off their loss
with tubular float

z

when fluster met bamboozle
it was time to ditch the z

ff

by ranting at fluff
I softened this shambles
with the dexterity
of a bombastic incessant

mondya

submerged shaky reinforcements leak aloft doubt:
underwater uncertainties support higher escape

seeping into the air of vagaries

this is no basis to rattle a swamp

with such finality to revelation, thrive originates at the dizzy heights of flood

1

giddy with influx, it takes a flourish of onset to unveil eventually