Sunday, 15 October 2006


The rain bulletins open a wound
it's sticky in the comfort zone

In the desolate aisles I/we runabout foraging
sizzled by brands

All colours bleed and run
in the soaped world

Vodcasts target the dread of dreams
re the decay of breath, bad follicles

The subject sits sideways like an object
distracted by rival cars

Who is the feebled verb
In the amphitheatre of coloured rhetoric

I'd love a cone of light and music
and an opening in the atmosphere

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