the ocean’s dark blue love of being broken
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After the Layoffs
against such odds as we now face. We will all have to screw our heads to the floorboards and hang our intangibles from the light fixtures as the sun sets on the legitimate spoils of this empire, and, for the future of our privileged and somewhat damp, though not without merit or beauty, where was I, lives, yes, which, wriggling away and leaving a trail not so much slug-like as composed of a kind of radiant petroleum product, must look ahead over the mountain ranges of the current difficulties and try to imagine a kind of future without the interference of the mechanical flies and their predators that we have so blithely come to accept as we once in the style of some indiscreetly imagined past took tea on the lawn, though, to sum up, it is not the past or the present that matters, but the small screws that hold up the iron pants of this great nation, which we have and will continue to sell at a reasonable markup.
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too late to give up the first sign of bruising in the morning sky
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like an ancient carved alphabet or breakfast free from human hands while this spark lasts whistle past new double glazing fit for middle management
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always wondering where to start but I’m always here so what was the question again some escape to range out over the hills note cannot even imagine mountains some people the fields and squares with manikins so realistic you almost see little clouds of smoke on a cold morning but the world is flat and without much detail apart from this pen and the shuffling of the dog occasional whiff of that cup of coffee and see I’ve fallen into my own trap and all the sudden there are things here in the world around this black hole
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dancing figures in smoke from the city of dry leaves in my chest
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through the night creaking subtitles add to the store of kitschy collectibles much like nothing in the cellar you can remember
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long shadows make
us giants in late August
a little cool mixed in just
enough to dream of
pumpkin falling leaf
crunch scent cicada
-less nights the full
moon through bare trees
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out of the limitless well but let’s wait until after the weekend’s fun to contaminate the seed cakes of our most recent obsession
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on the last page of the notebook
steadied by a thick
stack of New Yorkers
the pen
but the dog in her cuteness
the urge for coffee what kind of
is that a
the dishwasher needs unloading
and the heat flows out
from my fingers over
ever higher rooftops
other animals 