parcel the term
the Debussy played
on the stage
echo'd in the wings
dark unwindowed
olfactory with the past
achieved at last
and it was gone
in the sound of hands
muffled for the nonce
mohair and asbestos
hanging from the flies
and a single light
what is there from the left
and right but the green glow
of exit signs if anything
tour de force
flambéed lamb chops on the majolica ware
with the best sauce money can buy
in the traps set for a million dollars
in the bank outside the fountains of Bernini
silently the purposes filter out the stream
of words spoken up and written out the
poker-players ramble out to the hill and scream
as loudly as it may be with the chips in their ears
clip me out their coupons who ran the valued trade
on their marts under klaxons in an air-raid
the newsboys buzz the empty town at night
policemen follow the stream of traffic on the quiet
you can sleep now the discourse is done the lamp out
let the cat be born under the wheels of the juggernaut
and the frantic ply the nightwinds for a dream of day
you can suppose it is here the street and all its candied apples
Mauritshuis
I have an idea
of the Alpes-Maritimes
steaming at the height of summer
you have long indeed been long and far away
no you nestled in with comic books
for convalescence
it did not trepan your pons asinorum
enough perhaps to do the job
God willing there is a fount
where horses blow their nostrils
clear as bay windows
on the greensward
you have happenstance if your side
aches laughing to thank
and bow down
to your knees
take-off
this is only have a dream
the winking of oilily sanctioned men
who have no reasons for what they do
or did do
palmetto bugs big as your thumb
kissed quickly
for the fount of faith
the cucumber gardener hemm'd and
haw'd in his turnip lots
all shall be and if not
why not then
why
if scruples in Shannon could have told the tale
we'd all be at the airport now with mugs of ale
limitless imaginations
what do you have we suppose
that's worth may have a tinker's dam
there she is on the footsteps of the morning
lighting her fires
of dull indignation
rataplan goes the tiny set of hammers
the saw electric upon the flowers
the ivy trimmed to nothingness
the appliances that spit back at you
you the Jew
counting the rhymes
that do not pay
for the Tory
how I would like to build
says the eminent guest speaker
a long bold build of castaway nets
to fright my balls
into their holes
in the proper event
of the day
I reek and my manuals
are very dry stuff
the radio broadcasts
ah hear ye hear ye once and for all
and free speech is the
chiefest of sprees
woe unto ye attend to us all whatsoever
the mind is like cheddar cheese
ripening under a leaf
in the cabbage patch
beside a rabbit munching vigorously
all day and night
the prestidigitator's wand
in a top hat
I break your pate
out a cuckoo transpires
with my wand
in my hand
the hot sun stops and glares
apple of my eye
what word is this preaching the gospel
on a streetcorner with a megaphone
stand down the staircase that I may walk upon you
is all there is to what he is saying
like the shopman shouting his wares
from an open door
lascivious things
these try my patience says my lady
furiously vacuuming the rug
I gather all my memory in a basketful
and shoo it out my window
let it fall as the tender rain
on any below
here is the picture
I have cut off from me say it you
the hausfrau and the bitter seed
let it gibber in a Bath chair
I'll pass codes allowing it a way up
the silken ladder from gutter to kerb
this is the station
this is the station
fixed in advance
all who alight here
do not by chance
what comes and goes
in and out
does so haphazard
in a pig's snout
that snuffles the baggage
and writes home again
with the pen in its lips
for more and more men
end of the line
rubber baby buggy bumper
with a red light
if I die before I wake
and the great nothing here daily
only the rapscallions
dreamily making mincemeat
of Giotto's O