Travel Shorts

I've been walking
new lines
to rewrite psychogeography.
Like the memories carved
in a child's
etch-a-sketch,
the new ones are discombobulated
by déjà vu.

Let's not pace in fissures
gathering salt for our wounds.

Sibilant sea coughed our stories into the chasm.
Its echoes carved out a new path.
Fissures expose the truth about us;
we are archipelago
in need of an isthmus.

His floating workshop; a place he remembers
times past.
The wind up bird
her mechanical wings
laden with words. She'll knock you
for six
she'll blow you away.
Quietly squeal queer bird,
her mechanical wings
clipped
and words pirouette
like feathers
or hard rain.
Chained to a tether she only
makes whirring circles
and bounces like
the sound
of a moth inside
a lampshade.
His bird was flown some
time ago.
Left behind no
scattered seeds.

Hiding in shaded gardens where
she tends
to her rich fantasies
and in grand houses
where she hides things under carpets
and worries about dust.

Her dissembled sentences rolling too quickly from the lips,
His arms; the archipelago of oil floating on skin.
Her fingers tacking side to side across his back;
His shoulders tensing, rippling under her touches.
Her consonants crashing against vowels, fricatives spraying
His face with its crags and boulders.

“I can't have children.”

Rowing out to an island,
clinging to a rock.
Words bend truth like
waves bend wood
splinters
into a thousand pieces
each with a story to tell.
A ghost ship,
a kraken.
a thunderstorm,
a night of a thousand fish.
The night she slipped away from him
and his lonely hours by the radio

Bee’s Birthday

Autumn                     hits
                    winter
                                             the day
              rusts
                               leaves
behind
                             a few
                    words
                                 that
        make
                   this
                                                 sonnet

Confused visemes

Sixpence                   Sucks pens
Slim women             Sleep with me
Colourful                   I love you

Predictive text (when drunk)

Jess n are
riot led
innit got be
bak soo
brigtiriotertio
seein
what happens
in drunkan
very walk.
Lovean cabb

           x

                      x

ejective sibilance 2

This occurrence of cadence
marks the confluence
of ejective sibilance
an inconsistency of decadence
in language rife with complexities.
Our acceptance of this
mixture of sounds is what
makes English a pleasure to analyse.
The coalescence of opposing
ejectives and sibilance could be described as
succulence of language.
There seems to be a standard
rule in order.
To break it is acidic.

ejective sibilance

occurrence                                     cadence

Ellipsis

I like people


                 falling                             short
of                      expectation.



                                               I

            dream


                  omission.