False Associations 2

False Associations (1)

So let us sit a while in the space left between ending and beginning

So let us sit a while in the space left
between ending and beginning

Here where
Nothing grows or ever
Dreams of living

There is a silence here that sings as sweetly as any song
And says that
Love has passed through these fields;
Has passed through and moved on

Here lies a land owned by neither bird
Nor flower -
Beauty has no place here,
Time holds no hour

And so let us sit a while in the space left
between ending and beginning

Here where
Nothing grows or ever
Dreams of living

Spanish Bluebells

Those weeks when the Spanish Bluebells came
As quietly as starlight pouring blue
And brilliant upon
The small bank of earth before my window
Have now passed.

So then the earth is back.
The bare earth.

Between scattered weeds - that I've not
The heart to move -
Crisp packets hunched as old women
Twitch in the late evening wind -

And how the wind howls across this sorry patch of England!
If the rain falls - and it does fall
How the packets crackle like fire!

But they bring none of the joys of fire
And sound as mocking and as uneasy to me
As the forbidden laughter of strangers.

Dalston Night Song

And so it's midnight
outside the Tesco Express
on the Kingsland Road

A man kicking at the wind
the rain
red lights from passing cars

And you have your hand in mine beneath an
old umbrella -

No, let's try not to think about the morning darling

For now
All that matters is
huddling from the rain and that
I've your bag and a bottle of wine

And that in half an hour we will be home

Bushwick Tales (1)

i wake up at 5.30am, from a drunk, hispanic laughter in front of my window, a cool breeze flows through my open window, on the doorstep of my house, two men in black baseball hats, three-quarter length cargo jeans, bid farewell to a friend on his way to prison today, the conversation is occasionally interrupted by repeated phone calls, where are you man? or the blase answer, in a light accent, changing to spanish at times, they're not saying much, mostly how loco and cool it is, cracking jokes about court day, i look up the weather forecast, it is going to be a cool summer day today, a slight chance of rain

the marriage of aphrodite

from the eastern crest of the setting eve
a wave of crystal particles like foam diverge
its shining stars wash ashore of ithaka
and curl in the green room of night
it is still and it is dark here
beauty greater than gold transits before a churning fire
so bright and large that it blinds our sight
her eyes sparkle married in heaven lit for only man to see
that we are wrapped in celestial embrace for lasting good
until death lands the kiss upon our fragile lips
with the salty taste of the sea that once gave birth to love
now gives birth to an eternity greater than man can love
there is written in the sky
only love can guide us through this night
and deliver man to womans thighs

Faces (50)

(50) Her face curves gently, as she stares at me, a wide gliding landscape with soft, broad slopes. Her deep brown irises beg me kindly from behind the veils of her obsequious eye lids, and beckon me with her full, red embalmed lips, for one more kiss.

Faces (49)

(49) His mandible grinds heavily from left to right, like a ruminating cow laying motionless, he stares blindly in the distance with wide open eyes. His eyebrows are contracted by a fixated frown into a widely shaped V spanning his forehead, the outer edges pointing up like the brows of an owl. Around the widely white eyes, heavy eye bags and fatty eye lids orbit in hypnotizing circles concentrically fixated on his doughy prey.

Faces (48)

(48) Her white freckled cheeks boasted a little tug nose, her nostrils stared at me like the eyes of a die. Her hair was shaven at her temples, while on top it dangled like long orange stems of reed that danced along with every step she moved. Her shy downward glance and soft hesitant voice revealed a Russian accent.

Kisses in the Morning

your shoulder sinks into the soft mattress
your fragile face appears in my dream
the two slopes of your thighs behold my eyes
that stare at your mouth sucking in my love
the words stick like honey between paper
the paper shrivels while my pen is still
the table surface at the bed's end lies
where your brown feet curl above the white sheet
i follow the lines of your golden calves
like unwinding ariadne's thread
gently my white hands slide down your bum
like a rock down a mount of tender love
tender my love, you should go down on me
like an angel climbing down onto me

Faces (47)

(47) The skin above her nose pulled together and folded, forming two deep crevices between her curly eyebrows, which formed a full wave of her emotional frequency, her lips and eyelids tightened in parallel, her nostrils widened, but then all the fierce muscles of her face in one sudden jerk relaxed and her dark Mexican eyes lit up, and her smiling, full, red lips pouted to form an endless festoon of kisses.

Faces (46)

(46) A large shrub of dark curly hair grew over his fat and wide face, his pebble eyes lay burried in the multiple layers, his nose resembled a fleshy bulb with blue spots and grew out of his mushy cheeks, but when he sipped from his crystal glass of water, the corners of his mouth sank so low, his upper lip falling so deep over his rounded chin, revealing a tense bow, that I forgot the whole remainder of his head.

Faces (45)

(45) Tugged away into the blue, woolen cap of her mackintosh rain jacket, and wrapped tightly by a green, coarsely knitted scarf, her straw red hair fanned out into all directions. Her sloping white nose pointed out forward and elongated thin lips lay serenely beneath her freckled pink face, hiding against the winter cold.

Les Pensées (43)

At first, Artaud felt exhilarated by the shallow but fierce current of the impulse of love that erupted, but the feeling quickly washed away again by the brutal tide of nocturnal sadness, dragged along by the blind darkness of the evening.

Faces (44)

(44) A heavy, dark and scruffy beard hung from his chin, hiding his bleak neck, and domineering his face, effacing the shape of his nose and his cheekbones, lending his presence an indistinct appearance, accentuated by the thin frame of his glasses and distracted by his straw hat.

Der Engel und das Mädchen

durch ein Loch in den Himmel
schaue ich in die Wolken
und ich sehe das Lächeln eines Engels
aus der Augenhöhle rollt eine einzige Träne
und fällt in die weichen Kissen
einzigartig wie sie mir anschaut
und flüstert leise Worte der Trauer
zärtlich trinken meine Lippen von ihrem Kummer
und zaubert das Lächeln eines kleinen Mädchens
das in den Himmel steigt


I look into the clouds
through a hole in the sky
and I see the smile of an angel
from her socket a single tear rolls
and falls into the soft cushion
she looks at me singularly
and whispers sorrowful words
my lips drink from her tender grief
and the smile of a little girl appears
who rises toward the sky

Faces (43)

(43) On top of his head firmly pointed up the sunny blond dyed peaks of hair, his sleeps hidden behind the solid black bars supporting his glasses. His silver pirating earrings dangling from his naked ears, colored red by the winter cold.

Faces (42)

(42) Her salt and pepper colored scarf wrapped around her hidden neck and curled down her shoulders in a single spiral. From underneath a yellow, woolen beret, her straw red hair wildly stuck into all directions, leaving only an opening for her firm, white red nose and her dark, mousy eyes peaking out.

Night Poem 140212

You were there

And then as a
Tube train screaming
"Rush!" into the tunnels -
Lifting old newspaper
And unresting hair
You were there

No longer

Faces (41)

(41) His eyes were reduced to two blackened half crescent shapes by the light's angle, a dark tired line underneath his eye sockets, his cheek bones diminished to two shadowy stains hidden under a sloping layer of fat that grew from his neck to his chin, crawling to cover the remaining top of his head, only a goatee of graying hair outlining the last contours of his jaws.

Night Poem: 231112

Midnight outside the Tesco Express on the Kingsland Road

Les Pensées (42)

Artaud danced along the room moved by the uncontrollable motion of love, until he crushed unto both his knees exhausted and in the realization that his greatest passion had just eluded him.

Night poem: 180112

In a yellow memoryless room
Beneath the ghosts of underwater voices, the
Coackroach creak of my neighours
Cars come not as a river tonight, but
Stopped and hollow as screams against the window

An empty wine bottle
And a dead radio
A vase to piss in
And loose thoughts on civilisation
And of progress

Then above me, the voices fall silent
Somewhere beyond their howls lies sleep
And in the morning darkness
And in the evening there is the room again
Yellow and alone

Faces (40)

(40) His scruffy red hair, once a darker blond, had formed lumps like bewildered snakes. His pockmarked cheeks had deformed from the scourging sun. His nose poked at everyone, crowned by a jewel of a wart that dangled at the tip. His eyes shyly turned away.

Faces (39)

(39) Her rosy cheeks shine in the dim light, her blond, wavy hair on fire with star dust, a tired line under the joyous mischief that hides in her dark eyes, the same mischief dances on her smiling lips, the wool of her sweater tickles my chin, the inducing smell of coconut tea.

Les Pensées (41)

Artaud sat on the waterside and admired the play of light and shadow on the water surface before him, reflecting the naked limbs of two girls swimming toward him. One looked pure and divine, the other pensive and keen. Artaud picked a flower and threw it in the water, following it with his gaze as it drifted away on the ripples following the two girls pass him.