(after Rimbaud)

september 2003. we were wondering why the poets were silent
we: children’s books, whisky, record shops
bombed orchards, paracetomol, refugees, circuit boards
the sun, god of fire
there we have a series of verbs. they pass to & fro as if no-one had seen them.
they go in and out of random houses. signal towers. border towns.
the course of study is that simple
the legality & opacity of poets
the noises scratched into them. real constellations: beggars, economy, detonation
december 2009. a review of the year
a hell for the hands, for the hair, for the mouth, for the law. an entire symphony
360 degrees. supernatural sobriety of discontinued nouns
the reservoir at dawn
direction multiplied by velocity. glimpses of improbable harmony

The Commons set 3 // 29 - 30

objects / tobacco & brandy
or something truly ridiculous
class struggle / in poetry also
- yawn -
its contagion is spread
via rhymsters, their embers
their swarms of bone
not zombies, sirens
criss-cross a fraudulent
a map of, of what -
got an art council grant
will burn their houses down
- yawn -
everyone’s been buried alive


objects / of the future
who we’re speaking to
- or there is no future -
- so, like, tough shit -
but still your shadows
still they block us
are still eating us
even inside the poem
its rowdy echoes
we are drowned inside
sirens, as I was saying
or, of course, the law
our ruins our octaves
you speaking in them

The Commons set 3 // 27 - 28

meanwhile, we were documentaries
a code made of letters, like
unaroused by official culture.
For some reason, it was 1649,
we were trapped inside it, clutching
our most reasonable point of view.
I can’t say more / vast territories
of our singing selves, decommissioned.
Maybe it was 2003, or something,
I don’t remember, my favourite laws
were just a system of false brains
I recognise that / splintered & oblique
social utterance flaming malevolence
magnetic, would soon go dancing etc


our minds are clean & pleasant
the sphere of employment
- blank -
listen, we are your friends
gliding like magazines / we
inside each nations serenity
sitting near you on the bus
totally harmless characters
strange and flattering numbers
seriously, trickling inside
what we once were / we
esoteric in panic
swifter than birds
in our social role, objects -

(after Rimbaud)

complaint registered March 18th 1871
what I liked were crumbled octaves, fruit markets
xenography, petticoats, reservoirs
where mathematical fluid and relics of social movements might
no verb: complaint registered Nov 1989
we are still in Cimmeria
the point is a total reworking of all definitions
that means history, senses, cellular matter
here primarily for networking, interested in traditional values
abandoned pubs, tonal constellations, humanitarian intervention
where known scholars and professionals might
kept alive by musical systems
ancient wavelengths, electric liquids
dense silence in city parks

The Commons set 3 // 25 - 26

hello / we are your life
- stop -
now it is March 18
& we are a syllable
like a non-frequency
our twists & circles
ie the gypsy davy
- stop -
- 71 comments -
- we are your octave -
- not zombies, sirens -
- ie obsolete music -
- 1871, march -
- choke -


so, I’ve been in the penn
with the rough & rowdy
echoes, letters & notes
- musical ones -
“10, 000 were drowned
that never were born”
ie register that
via export of capital
understood as the dead
encircle us, in a sense
was a mole in the ground
no, sorry, I mean a census
I mean the police computer
as centre of gravity / irradiated

The Commons set 3 // 20 - 24

extract the city, extract virtually
blank songs etc, you know what
into ghosts / as a swarm of mouths
wow & / we were redistributed
of golden, springing speech / bells
& rags / inside this arc of fist
we alphabetic insomniac, in as
how old are you, my scratching
splinter, as in a spore heaven
who here can speak / and in what
flickers of ancient power, reference
you are crows, days / ok, have city
or live in it like was eating us
we bottomless trivials / as


BANG / & our musical duty
like right inside it / its flutter
as in zone-traps, full pyro
as in ex-landscape, is thighs
as decibel in slow retreat
RIGHT our cells & sections
in no underwear / biting &
when I was a country girl
a system town, as blow flatter
(o shit) (like sorry about
& are you / my adjustment
the aged parent, so softly
our non-existent whimpers
eclipse / movement / blast


& the cuckoo, as in
our ring of stilettos
its place / in the song
by now / pure cosmosis
nouns / rearranged
at the border / thin
diagrams / spinning
metal / I’ve played
cards / in england
I’ve played / I’ll
bet you ten dollars
here, in 1917, its
chordal flex, its
thin metal spheres


& the crossroads, yeh
in any case, what we
nah, just kidding, yeh
were never obliged, in
the enemy language, not
not what / daren’t say, as
blocked season, or else
the quartier of perdition
or then there’s, clean
& simple numbers, yeh
gardens / is what / or else
or necessary to lie
our slick & delicate sphere
we middle-class / leaking


or so, that we pulled up
our petticoats / entirely
zombie, & so revolving
drunkeness etc / my gold
my winding sheet / give it
but then again / as bruising
& the border is / where what
we three pretty maids / are
where dreamt a dream / &
troubled in my head / as in
my cosmetic knot, my stranger
I used to whip him with a
where we were the description
my petticoat / but not now, so

The Commons set 3 // 18 - 19

my absence now / I am speaking
as a drugstore here, a constellation,
an irradiation / as in vocal granules
inside the arc of time, becomes
a silent circle / contracted out
the work of destruction, what
constellation, what - weird, these
strange and bitter consummations
have burst into fragments. Sorry
I meant to say centuries, anyway
now that each word is reduced
obviously to money, ie invisibility
inside my stilettos / I meant to say
interchangeable / a din of galaxies



anyway / I just ate the passer-by
via 2 or 3 executive crossroads
known as burning talk / concealed
in the claims made by finks
their preposterous symmetry
strange, flattering numbers / but
- cough -
but as I was out walking, through
our musical positions, we were
sweethearts & membranes
we were sorry and tasteless
we were trickling curfews, but
here, safe inside our offices
we are eating / yes / & feeding