to 5

    on the 5ives




"Ist sie schön und gut dazu?
Reiz labt wie milde Kindheit;
Ihrem Aug' eilt Amor zu,
Dort heilt er seine Blindheit
Und verweilt in süßer Ruh."

Too many ordinary enticers
linens to be folded
anything cellophane shinesback
without shimmies; that’s the point.

Black – if only grey old flower
shadows could get there, undroop,
then death (or slowly dying) would pretty paint it-
self along shelfwalls

then menstruation to be dealt
cards stacked against aces always
in red not even, odds,
hearts, fuck no –


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No tutelage down the old
meat-safe sides either:
2 value packs of Tesco Apple n Orange.
Follow the salt stain rivulets

where the washing machine skewered
along the flags, hell no

your hand a fairy telepathic
orgone magicker
a long, long my need-flows

your agains
your cock a barometer
measuring highlows

_ _ _

It could be no. 49.
Hold on a sec.
She might be screamin’ for the moon
to blow

its full round all pocks and a

and she fills up her dishwasher
and hangs ironing
and checks the cat’s out
and tomorrow’ll wave
and pretend coffee?

hell no

my sisal edge
a clothes moth irritation
skank along where knicker crack
cracked out dry-so

smell my need-you
dust imploding, shinies
tea decaffeinated for sleep,

the need for


your armies look for gradations
oh-so s
just-so s
level headedness
child raising qualities
pence off dog food, mouths,

mouths to feed
and wee small hours
hours as huge as stars

nothing abhorrent
goohglutz, licking sleep from our eyes

"Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness,"

This time, we didn’t do
piss down my leg.
Your mouth come unsutured.

Her journal up on the shelf
staring at me.
Her name a song by Freudian slip
a jewel of the mouth.

Your mouth my baby mouth
feeding and still mouths to feed
and could I tell them the truth?

To help him of his blindness

I want more love for her.
Less News for me.
And please God,
no scarabs under the bed,
no deathwatch in the chimneys.

But groceries,
a plane overhead,
a little sugar, yes.
Bring me back.

Him of his

Ooze like demented deflourided
undumblond ador(n)ed
minimus oilslick
chiding down the discovery
a leg landslide
generating you

52 in a pack
52 reasons to love and only one lie perhaps

52 in a pack

but I can never remember if that includes the joker
hearts, aces gone the way of carpets

Damn Aquinas for his negative theology
living in
his head

tell me tales of whiskey
gun fights between pupils
the stare the stare of a fear when he knows it
knows death
and can admit to its inevitability
not this hanging on

someone who doesn’t mind dried ketchup
songs sealed in the alley

the back alley

hateful vengeance
breath, not the whoosh of Lubeck’s Right Whales
but a stale British rail sandwich
and tales of old ladies arguing over your seat

and menopausal exhaustion
sofa throws clogged by dog

The Saudi’s cannot catch
the madfuck terrorists
stupid TV cow
pontificates as harridan
a hair-do because I’m worth it


Your sweet, sweet pearls
dried on my shoulder
my clot a no-go down the pan

and always a list

Please God,
help him of his blindness
and being helped, inhabit here.