Panasonic camcorder as a self portrait

At most, it was a routine guess before I had industry down a tunnel. I caught the business of a machine, inside the business of another machine, and tearing myself to a singular shred, masturbated to the utter privacy of it. That’s what happened yesterday. Today I have a stoma full of bird bits. They flit in there to nest before losing their bodies to exhibition.


My husband had no idea that he’d proposed. Nor I. We just suddenly found people turning up outside our home with salads. Sweetmeats. Kitchen appliances.

We looked at each other, shrugged.

“Do you think they mean to kill us?”
“I’m not sure. It’s possible.”

The Big Swallow

people are solving persons

people are moving persons
people are castrating persons
people are invigorating persons
people are caring caring persons
people are blowing persons
people are (too) the wind
people are customising persons
people are blessing persons

people are born again persons

have war pick up the side of your face like that

i will fly off
in liberty
says my crazy beetle
scuffling away from accidents.

loathe to even gesture
towards accidents,

largely inarticulate
in that sunshine,
remaining wont to climax,

in metaphor, in illustration.


a reputation,
a detective sniffed,
a face before a window.

my ducks, mostly
ignoring this, fell
plumb out of file
in an enclosed verandah.

i buttoned my gown
to offer a stranger
a plate

mostly mumbled
as if i had no business
for the taking

i bought a saddle
one morning
a horse

for trotting the ducks
off to my birthday.

i guess we can say
i’ll get married
on a weekday.


My cat is a pressing one.

He and I
updated fuckery.

Of one day in May
try as I can
to mean it falls apart
my stoned fingers.

My cat was a Welshman.

My cat is absent
and tossled with far reach
becomes me, the hedon.

I exhausted
my bank without climax.

I fancy
the infectious river.

I fetch
for myself this inequity.

A stranger dear
is standing under a clock.

My cat is mostly the inelegant one.