Her thoughts in the water
eyes the colour of the moon
mouth bubbling aether's froth
trying to speak, to breath

Eyes the colour of the moon
wording quick ancient tongues
trying to speak, to breath
ebbing loose her essence

Wording quick ancient tongues
mouth bubbling aether's frother
ebbing loose her essence
thoughts in the water 

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The sky was that hazy grey you get
right after bonfire night; a chemical vat.
Riot police had already assembled 
by the time we arrived.
My uncle and I, and my girlfriend at the time
had travelled from Waterford to
Shannon airport, the Great American 
Petrol Station, a pit stop for planes
on their merry way to war,
to Baghdad (Kabul was still in the sun) and
places the world had yet to h...

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Beauty sees what beauty seeks
and skies and skies
rise
You arrive at your final wandering
of many, of many and
spy
what once stood for failure.
Trojan Sycamores whisper in the fields
you tumbled upon as a child
as a child playing conkers
on the warm-wet buttercups.

Beauty feels what beauty frees, 
the splendid energy of fresh death
like a sweet flower in a
nook of soft bone 
winki...

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I sit down
I stand up
again, again, again

I go to the window as if
a seer may appear
and tell me to stand or sit

Is it time yet
to take the pills
to sit still and think 
properly, once and for all?

I sit down
my heart like a fizzy can, shook,
bones aching with energy, yet
fatigued beyond reason

Is it time yet
to take the tablets that
make me stand and wander
this floor of ...

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I wake up
to the sound of trees,
glum, glimmering.

I give the cup
my hopes,
my energies.

My hands are broken
open, flayed, it
detracts the day,
my energies.

I pour myself
into the cup.
If I just keep
both hands upon it
I'll be alright.

Unless
someone drinks me cold.

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Blessed are those who last slept here,
popping tablets and
drooley night pills.

For their crown uncommon auras,
inward sickles, biting eyes and
lips for their
ten minute observations.

I imagine their wrists and faces,
their bloody pillows like 
pillars and twice as stony
as certain nurse's faces.

Yet they still
took the time
in their trying
to write

'I love you'
on this soi...

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1

reed a star when further winnows
roke subtle orbits
in the ploughed bluffs
of summer

arroyos marred in slatterns,
flaked goatskulls bleached

struck, the preened ivory palls 
of pyreslaw clouds a cave and
mirrors the firmaments 

2

who forsook the plead,
affronted noughts?
the gentric emphasis 
being that of corpsebone.

The latch laughs like a lyre,
a chord uncouth,
a ...

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Ram it!

Ram it in!

Hard!

Let them fight, cry, scurry!

Be they moist, rejoice!

If they're dry hear them roar!

Take that rigid thing and

force it in!

Sear their flesh as it slaps!

Pull their hair!

Claw their eyes!

Ram it! 

Ram it in!

Tie their wrists!

Part their skin!

Feel their weakness tingle!

Lick their hearts for hours!

...

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thoughts less false than words

flowers grim with sound

lamb tongues the Omega's march

flaked ash in peels

black fire in Sol's hearth

gates of mercy turning

warps of wet fire

on cold furs 

crisp lung in the numbers

life in the silence

omnidirectionally 

flare the virgins' leap

crybled a transit flits

drumbet the voice unclean 

begins abroil s...

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Hiraeth when the branches cast
shadows' gold from the Summerlands
to the lyrical tutelage 
of wings.

An epoch marked by graves,
silt in limerince, ethereal
the vacuum's pulp,
grey the distance illicit.

Supine the iris iridescent,
symphonic the pose
as mountains call
more eagles there
to nest amid the syzygy.

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The more he digs, the less he is, 
and the shovel turns bloody in
the red moon glow.
Strikes of rock and the dark earth wounds.
The distant heaves of heavenly others
frailing into their own personal ghosts
deeper, deeper, into nothing.

There must be something at the end, it's
the purpose of their disappearance.
They separate together, far from sight, out of 
reach.
The sound of grit a...

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The calm before the quiet
of nature's cruel curriculum 
asserts the loudest light, 
a being in essence
esoteric.

A crux, a bloom, a fulcrum
coloured in vultures
sets the sun running
forever

lest the passion last 
and the gold slum fully
or the brim crack shoddy
amid a haze of faces.

Expressions in shallow basins.

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Acute humans, lonely in angles.
Attempting life, death in bedsits adept
while the children they might have had
move by, skipping dead futures in the sunlight.

Cries like mice unborn, alive as ibis dead, 
the yet to be, the much too soon. The swears
on their behalf. So many meanings please just

let them die a life, form a death so lovely
that souls gather like apes upon a pond
of rip...

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I once caught an owl by lamplight
glaring deeply at me
on the forest's edge.

Coarse were the wings he clustered 
like horns and I, barefoot as a lamb
in the wet woods with moist matches.

The fires I made had broke with the season’s relays.
A distance cold with longing brought browed 
ashes to the mildew evening.

Dark, dark was this fat owl which sought me
lurking there, white as ...

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Remember the butterfly we kept 
locked up in the cage
and all night long
we heard the tock-rattle of chains
like Horus mourning
above the din of wake's exit? 

How long the wings grew helpless,
the petalled eyes
crushed against the pane
in slowly wilting ripples.

Do you recall the dust that gathered as it
malformed
more of a moth by the moment,
the weight on that little soul?

...

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