Underfind .sword-words.

Out in bedlamb

Xounting fences

And it’s bound to be redrum

Out of our headlofts

I’m soundproof and glad to be

Down under the dull drums

Out in the dead-pot,

I’m Xounting my hands

What Xards to take with me? 

Xount Dracula and Dread.

What bards? 

I’ve trifallowed their fields

Of words and Asbestos.

Trespassing

Shakespeare’s xast in my dream-glass, rounding-up shorn sheep

Then reaxting like spark-flixks, like shark-flips, like stark-dips in the dark depths

Flint-deep drawn-dizzy 

Chaste inside the red hay of Hamlet’s stables

Busy I am beaming on bridges

In situations so seamless

They could be fables, religious dreamed bliss, fetching pales of water. promisquous.

Brixks, axe, stixks, blaxk,

Scalextrix-traxks railing through lands

Sail, plan, relaxks

Without getting stuxk in the mudness.

In thE mAY tRixKs.

In tundra of blazing,

Somewhere amazing.

Gofftoffintheloft

Xoughing under a xloth

But the xloth isn’t smooth

It has a groove with a 

G. Has no baize in.

And I’m slothed with my dog.

Boss of the sloshed-woods.

Kosovan sods,

Tripe of the xloxks goods.

Bods in the sodden maths.

Stacked on our baxks 

Are the bridges we have mustard.

I went back to the zone where islands are,

Deep within creation.

At co-ordinates on a line, where x marks pleasure.

You were there, I was y.

How it had grown yet again like newly mown July.

New shine blew, blue as your eyes are true.

I jumped over balconies, 

Shared rooms with other men of my species, but never you

Deep within creation.

Had an amazing time.

The peaks looked so fake,

Too much to think about in such a short space of time.

Like Timbuktu.

The sun was brick-red over you and I hung

Out in my trunks sub-lime

But not to see what you funk.

The lasagne and sangria were just how I’d wished,

In fact every dish was worth a description,

But I’ve only got such a short figment of time

Before x never intercepts y a-gain. 

Yeah I got high, alright, but all right,

Because I was under the sun, 

And I’ll never again 

Like last time, hon.

I rented a bike just to see all the sights, by the sea, 

Where one side near-perished.

Once I’d near-perished I could see all the sites,

Where the islands are bright,

Deep within creation.

I cherished the man-made grains of sand

Laid on the beach where waves scaled the feet 

Of man who sold things in attempts to prevail.

I bought treats for mates who liked treats of my travels. Sweets and Grail.

*****

The hotel was neat:

There were Astro-turfs to play on with Gola surfs with my brother Sam. 

Switch.Connect.

I thought your eyes were green and closing when I was lost from my mother,

Deep within Londis signs. Green as free kicks. For ever.

You’re eyes didn’t lookmean no more. Justdreamlike.

Blew eyes blue skies truer than islands few. 

And I love every minute spilt, every moment’s guilt,

I love every rumour that has it.

But I’m running, away faster,

Running, out of plastertowns, 

Deep within creation. 

*****

I rented a scooter that was slick,

Slick as good memories are thick,

And zoomed like a chav,

With imprecise respect.

I ducked and dipped, having such quick glimpses of you,

In the sea but was safe, 

Though my species, tried to make mince-meat of me.

I will never mean you, 

In such a short demon of time.

*****

I look at the words and they are worth going blind, 

Left behind on an island

With nothing but ground. 

No people around,

To play beachball, no sand.

Because the words in my handmake such sweet sense.

They are man-made and I bought them all 

Wedge-deep within land.

I could plot your gradients in mind, inword

So why do I return to the land where men are such men?

England, where the islands are cold,

All the peaks are all low,

Compared to islands I know.

Why do I return from the creation zone? To the snow, jokes.

WeBeCome drifting stones,

At home with strange creatures,

WeBeCome so alone.

It is but the truth, and I like that so so.

So so come be facetious in a place I have dreamt. No snow, jokes

An island unkempt from timegoing bitbomb.

End of relevance, this island is wrong, so I fly back along, 

To England’s song. Comfortable turbulence.

I love you and words, woman.

This TerrorTory is urgent as Purgatory,

Purging into HisStory, Ben 

loves you but he went

Deep within creation,

But he’ll come back like the sun,

Does across the nations,

Each and every one.

Islands and locked lovers,

Coral horizons.

There was no soul to be found from fooling around.

There were goals and ghouls but they were for fools.

But there was a girl that followed the rules, so honourable.

But I was known to misuse.

****

So I changed my name, hair, indiscretions.

Changed the station, the platform, and dived.

Then you let me know through rhetoric

That I kept turning my cheeks

Away from the truth:

That you have always been my lover

Even if I’m not your man.

I could not get my head around this

And I left behind Great Britain.

You left me, you left, from my head, you left,

so many times,

that you’d come back around.

What do I do, if I can’t be your man?

Where do I go?

****

Surveying the creation zone, I made up a place

Where I could conquer your soul, where I could study your space.

And when I arrived, words opened

Like buffets.

I felt it was paradise on that beach right there,

but I supposed your soul was safe

And I suppose that’s why I sang, a sweet song about sand,

The sand of your soul, I walked on a smell step,

But as I counted blessings, I lost my footing,

As the sand was so quick to pull me beneath.

So I took a leap out back to the sea but I wasn’t giving up that easily.

I was conscious of sharks and such qualms in the dark depths of the sea that were conscious of me. 

Then when I found a way in land through the wind-harangues and streams, I began to sing yet again with the things of our dreams

About the jungle I’d entered, 

And the fall of quartz water,

Over our crystalline spring closure. 

I liked my new song, and I was liking the chords,

But if you came along I was scared you’d applaud.

I was so lost on your island with no way of getting off

And when I trusted my dreams, they were thrust back adrift.

So when I went away again I had to rewrite the scripts, 

I had to paint a bigger picture, more real like, Leicesterscript.

****

So I went back, and you had got more civilised, so it seemed.

I spent all day at gorgeous buffets,

Lazing in cool pools,

Whilst palm branches spoke to the wind gaily, like phytoplankton speaking whale-braille.

I thought : I can go to the beach, I can go to the beach

But I want to climb to the peaks,

Of this 4* retreat.

And even though I’d eaten three steaks for dessert, I had a sweet appetite for arêtes,

So I leapt up Mount Timanfaya’s steeps

And wrote our names in stones at the top. 

I peered down the equator at the sun-drummed expanse 

Of your craters. Though bare, manned, barren and parched.

I thought for a while that the ants round my anks wanted to get into my pants. What a romance?

I was out of my mind, but you didn’t mind.

It was never too hot, or too lonely for me, searching for you,

In dream tectonics.

****

By night I threw rocks for her,

Write around the clock.

Every laugh mistook for her

Every day rolled up and jokks.

Tasted bitter twists in the elucubration.

Tasted warm butter in the lips of my crypt.

As I flew away from your island I looked back

And saw all the glitzy lights glitch. Indieskies.

Though I was happy to go back to my life in Great Britain

How lucky the men were that stay.

****

I saw your island and saw it grow,

Watched it colonised. Mown, glow, moss.

She has horizons in her eyes, sons.

I saw the waterfall, I should know.

****

How irrelevant this static dream seems not long in the future

I’ve still got a tan and a line from a deckchair.

I don’t think you’re an island or not right now any way.

You’re just doing your thing with a smile on your face.

And your thing is amazing, and so is your gay gaze

Am I an island or just another land-locked lover?

A futile’s lost from high winds at the top

Never fall to the ground with a bang no more.

I was crazy for you, now I’m just over the moon.

I was blasé, then chasey, then just plain pace-making.

My head is in a time-lodge, where no humans commune.

But when I’m seeing islands, I know they’re all faking. 

No one’s an island, if they are you could tell.

Or at least not a deserted one, deserted like Hell.

Hell is so close to the Sun, but not feeling its heat.

Hell is a boast, a yacht, a downright cheat. 

Hell is toast for the ones with the most.

Sigur Ros. Heaven’s neat.

I’m the one with the dough I think waaaa, Potatoes!

I’m in a matrix of Subbuteo only. 

I’m David and that’s bones.

That’s oh!

That’s ‘keep calm and comme des fuckdown’ pony.

I’m balanced and patient, 

I want to take you to all the stations that were built in th’Renaissance.

And where great cello’s scourge the rafters of concerto’s

I’ve been around the world and I, I, I,

But now it’s nearly time to pass go’s.

Looking at this I can only propose:

I love you I suppose.

If only, because it’s fun. 

Like diving among warm, corals perfecting in the sun. 

It’s so crazy to be back

Among the cracks on the roads,

And the flyers that lie there

And the butts of fags.

It’s so crazy to be back 

Down where water gains between bricks and mortar,

With sedative salt-gusts

Carrying beats of weather and feet.

Chip-forks and coffee-shop stirrers 

Slip in street-streams to the sea, past Oceana on a Wednesday.

Among well-thrown stones are aluminium Skol’s,

And why do you care? I saw it first:

Every gasp, from every glass, every last order.

Every cycle spoke, every landlord groaned.

Every attraction like dumps in alleys ubiquitous.

It’s so crazy to be back among the sleeping bags

Where the coast clenches its teeth and drags.

In the place where things ascend, 

For once the crows meant nothing

Neither did the people below,

Who may have wondered why I went.

I was a cloud but I don’t think no one noticed,

For it was dinner-time or lent.

The son was on the water

When I was sieved with mauve magentas.

I couldn’t see my lining but people might have called it silver.

I spread moisture on the pastures

And the golfers,

Who thought I should get off.

But they saw I was uncharted.

I was a cloud that started as a house on fire. 

I only think of you when I have a cigarette

That’s my five minutes aside for desires

When I drink I sink into your 

Gorgeous, gorgeous physique

But when I’m writing the moment

Lightning strikes the Vatican,

And everything is covered

In Niquitin patches.

I thought I heard cries of home calling me

On the blinding, grinding winds,

But I’d travelled too many miles

Into the wildlife.

Trudging, breathing heavy,

Heaving through frozen leaves,

Knee-deep in Badger-runs.

In this bewildering black, the moon plays no tricks

And as sticks snap

I know that there’s no coming back,

From the wildlife.

I am one… creative creature crawling

Made of beaten soils cranked, 

And jank-ranks of woodland necks.

The sounds have a go at me,

Giving the poetry of the Grounds.

I thought I heard fires rife from indoors, through Dark’s surds

Lurking in the wise woods though were the wise words.

Sightlessness burst my imagination.

The crows were scared as I declared the battle won: patience was the first hurdle I’d overcome

On my way up to the throne,

Out there in the wildlife.

Yor eyes glint, over Monkey-nuts, in sin you ate in glee

Sparkling like the Pr’secco 

Lights honed in their hazelnut retreat

The extravert chandeliers seesaw to our gravities

You unravel a stare like a travelling woman

Who knows what is there, underneath.

The electric intense city. The ineffable. The Bubbly.

Bringing us in for touches.

I want to get off 

Closed in our corner of the Gourmet,

Pulling on your horny hair

That is lank with sweat’s dewy gloss.

Stretching your doughy chin, 

Kissing and biting scarred, fruitful lips

The mistress. The bedlam. The cocktails.

I know what is there beneath

The exquisite flare you natural secrete

Poured on oily skin whose stroke alarms

Your floating freckles and milk-tea glow,

Our fingers conniving by St. Pauls cathedral

I want us still, swirled by scarves and snow

Kissing within a thunderstorm

Your charming smile froze

As the clock bellows the hour,

The power of you leaving me 

Leaves me winded you’re so beautiful

Doodling down the platform,

Til your tube dwindles in the distance.

Raw commotion.

Everything in the air.

You were a wild painting,

Ablaze with motion,

Screams and tantrums,

It was a spent devotion

That was so deep in its colour

But depthly were it’s sanctions

Riddled it was with  phantoms.

It was me that dishonoured

The Sid in  me ransomed.

But Sid he is handsome,

His eyes just like the ocean

Consider the dolour..

I was a menace of solace

Viewing existence in my form

From a distance 

It was something quite post-conscious,

Consider the valour..

I was out of bounds in a mute co-incidence

It was rather quite bad-tasting

The soreness of our split,

It felt like we were wasting

I was chasing all of it

It was falling to the pavement

We were tossed in fearsome fits

Your eyes they spilt like gravy

From tips to pits cries stained me

Jesus this behaviour, only you know is deranging..

Feeling nothing wasn’t cosy,

It was far far from jocose,

So I thrived off of my poesy

Finding all the prose and cons, 

Nothing was so rosey

Consider all the woe..

It was dead in my head

I felt like a bone

That was thrown into the ocean,

With a pocket full of, stones

I was mindfully perusing

Just cruising through the times 

Your image scars my eyelids

It’s so hard being behind it.

Consider the pallor..

It was scaletrix 

Round our cicatrices

It’s stale vexxing

I was sick of it,

A tale of cat and mouse

But I was just a man,

Picture the clamour..

The picture it was lying

I was hiding in it’s eye in 

A dying kind of fashion, 

Inventing my design.

We were madder than each other

Brash we were in love,

When it exploded of a sudden,

Picture the glamour..

It was just the reaper cussing

Not the repercussions

Of my sleeping rough

In the deeps of nothing.

Consider the grammar..

My stammered apologies

Picture the insanity..

The inflammatory cogs

In the cognizance of the silence

I could see old Satan falling

From his high horse upon heaven

The corruption was a science.

Purgatory duelling!

I regret screwing 

Up the paper that grew in us

From trust’s Maple’s that blow like dust

And I can’t wake up to you.

The wind was calm, the flags flip-flopped

Grailsome charm, impaling craft.

As I battled the tops, with poem and poem

Climbing the mast, the xylem and phloem.

Breathing furious, heaving with knowing,

I leave my class, like a season that’s going. 

The catharsis was so pleasing to be in.

And my art was excruciating

I targetted the highest embodiments

In sodden hovels, buggered tunnels

Seeking I knew not what it was

in trodden dugouts, astral plummets,

When the amulet, navy and gold

Was handed me from ancestor old

To cipher the darkness, to suffer the World

Heaven was scolded, Hell was cold.

In daft embarkings, I will be exempt

From seeing dark things, dark like Ross Kemp

In the mirrorcool places,  

I’ve been locked up unkempt

Causing a wasteland on this arable stench

Horizon the wasteband

The line she is riding

With a navy-gold amulet

A visor for colliding.

The amulet and ascension

Is to what she devotes

Releasing the tensions

From beneath the ropes

Comprehension I cannot connote

The invention cannot erode

It can only be colluded

But that entails abrasive demonics

But we’ve revelled in devilry

Dishevelled in heaven

This rebel ain’t me

But my soul is in sevens

Seas we’ve sailed 

I’ve left it In Devon

In sleep-streams, in Wales.

To deep-freeze in gales:

All my pieces in heaven, for

Have I not mentioned my attention

To the amulet n’ ascension?