Tuesday

i am stood in
that world of sheets
within the rotary,
billowing walls
whipped,
miles from anywhere,
my hillside.

and streams come
off me. prism
white and split-
colour noisy as a
roundabout. where
you been? he asks
and i am never sure,
not entire

absolute sure. see this
bit, i shift my hair
over an ear. see this
dream i made, it's
wonderful isn't it?
the babble hits the
atmosphere and
bends,

pummels its way
to the outer. away
from the open graph
where the entire universe
is the sleep-drool from
my mouth,
the way you see me
hard as a replica.

my hydraulics keep me
in pulse, govern
with an iron grip say
go! and go
i must. i hit the
atmosphere,
body shredding to
filament. i am a comet
of want, a tiny death.

dat rosa mel apibus
you say,
one trouser leg rolled,
a cross of twigs in one,
a thorny mouth
in your hand of
lucid dreams. help me
to help you! i could love
you if i learnt how.
the day is a brochure,
a thing i'll never do.

reading death in the rain and finding
the bowl of oranges too still. unreal,
until i knock it over-
do something.

love someone
without strangle.
walk to cafes and drink unusual tea,
catch the eye of perfect men
and send your tongue to them.

put my fist through the window and drag
my wrists up the glass-

in half,
like pig heads on a doorstep.

Wednesday

a vogue of clouds
firm as a handshake,
sends a snowflake
to my violent tongue.

indifferent, she melts-
in thrall
to my shoutless mouth.

Tuesday

Daffodils by WW (punctuation only)

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the blind men and the elephant
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Thursday

a rolling hitch, eye splice
and under the skin-fur
a noose, there. if i bread you
out like ginger then
cut you here and there
you might be tiny men or
snaps.

my hand is a nest of cramp,
skinny-jean fingers,
shrunk-fit. i pummel you
slight as bird-hopped snow
in the yolky sun.

here i love you. my beak
of twigs, iced gems-
morninghasbroken mice
twisted cherry stalks, a dagger
of mirror, springs
in your thorax gone
ah ha,

i love you. i cannot put my
hand into you. cat-gut strung
knuckled in bunches of words,
we appear and leave,
top-most of trees and breeze, a comet
burns through us, in a while
the darkness bright as an organ
follows.

my saucer of milk. far away
you send me pieces of violence-
a boy-shaped mouth in my fabric
and your lucian gregory blood
spilled out nice in the road.
* 1885 Hen
* 1886 Hen with Sapphire Pendant†
* 1887 Blue Serpent Clock
* 1888 Cherub with Chariot†
* 1889 Nécessaire†
* 1890 Danish Palaces
* 1891 Memory of Azov
* 1892 Diamond Trellis
* 1893 Caucasus
* 1894 Renaissance
* 1895 Rosebud
* 1895 Twelve Monograms
* 1896 Revolving Miniatures
* 1896 Alexander III Portraits†
* 1897 Coronation
* 1897 Mauve†
* 1898 Lilies-of-the-Valley
* 1898 Pelican

* 1899 Bouquet of Lilies Clock
* 1899 Pansy
* 1900 Trans-Siberian Railway
* 1900 Cockerel
* 1901 Basket of Wild Flowers
* 1901 Gatchina Palace
* 1902 Clover Leaf
* 1902 Empire Nephrite†
* 1903 Peter the Great
* 1903 Royal Danish†
* 1904 No eggs made
* 1905 No eggs made
* 1906 Moscow Kremlin
* 1906 Swan
* 1907 Rose Trellis
* 1907 Cradle with Garlands
* 1908 Alexander Palace
* 1908 Peacock

* 1909 Standart Yacht
* 1909 Alexander III Commemorative†
* 1910 Colonnade
* 1910 Alexander III Equestrian
* 1911 Fifteenth Anniversary
* 1911 Bay Tree
* 1912 Czarevich
* 1912 Napoleonic
* 1913 Romanov Tercentenary
* 1913 Winter
* 1914 Mosaic
* 1914 Grisaille
* 1915 Red Cross with Triptych
* 1915 Red Cross with Imperial Portraits
* 1916 Steel Military
* 1916 Order of St. George
* 1917 Karelian Birch
* 1917 Constellation (unfinished)

* 1898 Hen
* 1899 Twelve Panel
* 1900 Pine Cone
* 1901 Apple Blossom
* 1902 Rocaille
* 1903 Bonbonnière
* 1904 Chanticleer

* 1885-1891 Blue Striped Enamel
* 1902 Duchess of Marlborough
* 1902 Rothschild
* 1907 Youssoupov
* 1914 Nobel Ice
* 1885-1889 Resurrection
* 1899-1903 Spring Flowers

† Indicates missing egg

Monday

black forest,
your hair is
full of thieves and
murderers.

chop off my head
and bang it
on the roof of
my car.

like a monkey in
the monkey part,
rip out my
aerial.

give it a whirl, kirschwasser-

i am a member of
schwarzwaldverein
and will
regulate you up-

sleep in your gorge
of cuckoos.

Sunday

once,
your spurs cut me

deep in a darkness
like light i blunk.
my deus ex machina

pike-skewering all
through me and my
stillness.

you tipped the different
pleas into the tube-
blam.

switched yourself off.
and on and off. and
came and went,

kept the plates spinning
like planets. your ex
in waiting

was me to come,
wrapped in the robes
of your doublespeak-

a factory worker,
sorting through bluff
and magic,

on ice; your need
to stay loved
gargantuan.

you threw me
like a bottle of poems
to the lake.

i am all in silt
and murk and lost.
you go on to hold

the hand of a new me,
interchanged nicely.

your bluster
visits new worlds
to make claims

of some whirlwind of love-
a stolen house ripped up
and shook,

forgotten.

Thursday

will you not
just pop
round then,
slot into the olde
ways you
love so much?

and know
i am one big
breast,
a flagon
of mouthings,
apothecary
of nooks?

and will you not
step back
to squint
my whole
spring of flesh
to once?

for you will
change too-
(and soon we are gone
to winter clocks)

Sunday

in yr eyes
an air balloon. in me

& by the river, we rock
back and forth

unangry

Friday

light shines upon junk
as if to find a man, a woman
there, a tooth-pick
through her, getting thee
gristle out, that piece of
animal in there.

you hand me the money
and i give you the
swizzle stick. you ask
for a plastic monkey
hung on the edge.
i skewer the
cherry and open it
for you. it's GLOWING.

you turn to stone
shortly after, shaking
like a silver birch
being cried about. OH
you say and check
the map, run your fingers
down my polar caps,
out and over into space-
my dark matter.

Superman put his hand
in the fire to get the
glasses, but you won't.
yours is in your pocket,
clutching at the
diagram you've drawn,
cold yet safe like milk,
of a solar system
intractable,
where you are called sun.

Saturday

you fell out of love
with my feet.
here and here, you hung
your wet thoughts
on my rickety line of
bones. i blundered on
in love. you spoke with
a shuttened mouth, of a
system too far above us,
as it was.

and futureless, my
crow's feet led you
outward to death.
oubliette i was and
dreadful, a field
of mines and mine
between
the brotherhood
and silver flesh
of girls unspoiled
that i once seemed to be.

your glinty thinking
is what i get caught on.
my sky-
a thousand lanterns
lighter.

Friday

here is the first part of a poem i'm writing with ross sutherland about the difficulties of relationships between men and women. it's to be an exchange and i'll update it as more gets written.

1.
gut parkas

they make parkas from gut.
gut parkas. you are mine, inuit.
this warmth comes out of you
like street-lamps.
you're a forest and a dial-
for centuries we've been kissing,
presently.

your sleeping arms. i can't
decipher them. your mind
is dark scrub and the tribes
that hide within it. i can see
their torches and their
white-as-skulls. we are waiting
for buses and trains and trying to
get out. i cry 82% of the time.

when we fuck we're not there.
you give me haribo from a plastic bowl
and tell me i look like a squaw.
i get lost in the artex, it's a vortex.
your fez is all crooked-
we are compost, limes.

2.
bona dea

in museums you tell me of bona dea.
i nod and nod, the warder in my cleavage.
we talk about breaking up,
the tongue on a tooth, tonguing it.
you are moving to greenland, then
salem. i admit that to carry on
would be pointless. it's pritt stick.

your jaw makes me wistful.
i like your teeth on the left, a
bolt of light comes off them.
if you were a bonfire then i would
be around you like naked girls.
seppuku, you whisper
like it would get you out of this.
i lick a tissue and clean your
mouth up.

we're science fiction, but
if anyone looks we're rom-com.
i dream of you in antlers and skin,
in winklepickers, kapow.
the criminalistics prove it,
that cup with your saliva,
the fingerprints in my hair,
you're in it.

3.
wagon wheel

you have your lunch-box
with your wagon wheel.
you offer me some by the crater.
i press my nose up to the glass of you
and take a reading.
you are telling me how
things go. i'm
not listening.

you do maths on me, like
magic tricks. you pull a rabbit
out from my double-breasted,
it's a sure-fire winner.
i am in a world of sounds,
bright shouting. it's baltic.

i buy you glittens and dwarfodils.
you hit me with your spork.
i'm wearing jeggings and a coatigan,
half way there.
we're hybrid, spliced,
men of many moons-
through the january stabbings
we're ancient.

Saturday

This weekend I went to the horniman museum which is now my favourite museum of all time ever to take some photos for my book Tunth-sk. These are the ones i like best- though the human jaw one is sexiest i reckon.