"Middle E"
In the clock of carriage,
Reassuring, metronomic
Fundamentals slat and agitate below.
Through the pane, slow-light,
Velocity as flicks of landmark,
Suffocated in the hedgerows and the force.
All dark and rush;
But looking in,
This high-speed warmth and purpose
(Electricity luging oilseed)
Must seem a locomoted frieze –
Of frame on
Frame… I paraphrase.
His look is autofilth.
The smoking railway carriage,
Fans into the shadow
Of a gunman.
This ego, flesh and cruelty –
In antitrust cahoots,
And tantrum.
"Morning"
Morning comes -
In our own radio ideologue,
What silent vitamins my 4 shirts cannot parry
(undrawn corporate swatches, sweating in the white wind hours),
Linoleum pebbles pecking this voided hulk,
And a trembling edifice of leaves:
Orchestra of fingers
Behind my eyes.
