Category writing

the thrill of it all

we climb these shifting sands….dried out in the tide…some pools of water rush to us but do not surround us…we give the sand integrity and solidity….it inclines further to the vertical…our scout party, hangers on and refugees, cling to the ridges of the crumbling moist sand…until….we pull ourselves clear above it into the glow of […]

“under a sod”

“man does not get what he deserves but he gets what he resembles” Jaz Coleman – Killing Joke 1985 in the living room we switch on the bright main light….the carpet is crawling with black insects….too many to collect and dispose of before they a scurry away…it’s almost like they have developed a bite but […]

the sound of fluff on a needle

old mage and sages discuss whether to go by old age, boredom, or their own hand….they are shadows rippling on the wall of the Park…there is no need and they want none of it…asked to turn themselves over…like old boulders…revealing worlds…where dryness and dull drugs work in a delayed fashion… i hold the door of […]

AMaj9/E tuning

(or – where would I be without my phone?) “PHONE – A speech segment that possesses distinct physical or perceptual properties, considered as a physical event without regard to its place in the phonology of a language.” late night google map searches transmute the dreamscape…faint memories of squeezing skin to emulate moisture … an edge […]


Again….I feel like someone has broken into my house. Or some thing. Perhaps a host of them…a flow of leaks…and which house? Have they taken anything? Maybe they left something…a trace.  Revenge burglary….watergate. The disorder seems familiar and untouched. There could be evidence anywhere. You draw a bodyline around the incorporeal intrusion…the border breach…the state […]


Going back over some old knot books for notes (and some old note books for knots) I found something that is an exemplar of the strange poetry I am reaching for. In the flats I descend to the basement car park and leave that way on foot. I pass the public exit at guard level […]

spare us the cutter

…so you gave me old shoes after dropping me a piece of flint. I walked you out past the drowned out blackthorn. I heard your silence and your rustling wind in the trees by the cemetery…it couldn’t last in this vapid humanity. I saw your webs catch the sunlight on a plate for me, serving […]