Angels Shit

She smells of angel shit [no one mentions it]/ I’ll start my MK1 Bayesian Probability Machine & it may warm me under my Markov blanket… Read More »Angels Shit

Perfect Isolation

Coupling bees are falling [Thut!]
Over-wrangled & humping – as if
there’s no tomorrow – they know
how things are & how things will
be – now our lives are set by rays… /

Motes Never Settle

Roll [once more] into sleep’s spindles
& those coils of dreams – of rapid eye
movement – of phases of oat moon in
your turned back eyes – roll with every
fade-in & out of your dreamt phantom …/


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Is it that [noticeable] difference
between [all of] our estimations
of how our now life develops &
our realised truths

Now Let Me [Finally] Rouse Alone

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Extract my whirl of memories
so her censure [when I wake]
isn’t my recurring cauchemar

after another disturbed night
of wily gledges by our rewind
[a play] of misconstrued sex

I yearn for a retreat

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I yearn for a retreat
from my devices &
my vice of red-eyed
hours – do not wake
me – space spills in

Reading Lights

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I have slipped into being
one who staves day wear
& who’ll settle to waking
up with Bacalov & books
in his sitting chair below
his reading light – within
reach is his worn remote

And Spin

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She was always too innocent –
pious in place – spinning a thin
yarn out of love songs of Ovid
& my over thumbed amorets