I have retired my bolo

The sun it’s not as deep, now rain-washed

Charged wire bled and fracked

And me sleeping wet

Towel-wrapped without point or poise

Gripping rectangles in fingers lengthened

By how dry - how I see to the end of my nose

Freckling my lips in white, wasting

Red halves and drop

I have desired my work

Taken to bolting, hotter

And weeping with reefs under skins so unexplored

Surely amazed in baked soufflés of guilt and pore

Over green leaf-locked appetites and tasters

Dip dip dip
Circular in waist

Happening - present - book.

There are spaces between cracks where

ant-like bodies are strewn, stretched out

Long before they grew wings

It is hot hot hot hot hot hotter than last

and 3-wheeled windows are open

I dunno if you’re at work

This is where I was last night, too:

Smearing honey-charred streaks between

eyes and avoiding lips

Rolling over after under ever now never

There are spaces under doors where

black plastic can slip and melt when

it’s this hot as hot as seat belts in cars

and musk

I’ve cleaned all the plates and glasses.

There are spaces next to paste where

white masks make up the matter, thin

Late and getting wetter

We talk amongst cans, to be able to and leave

locking, letting lights on and piping me

Filth and specs - sicker than most

This is like cap, over bonnet but darker

ruder and wrench-less in the blue heat

fishing for black spikes

and laughing very very loudly

There are spaces over yellow glares where

water can’t take me, anymore but your

bleak cave stays torn

I’ve left with the bottle leak.

Heels in one hand

To the Frenchmen at 111

Click-clack through raindrops,

Fat and lobster-laced

Waiting for skip and thinking about left sides

As we’re dressed


I can claw-foot-you while musing

Attachment theory, arriving

Under brolly

And an ode to bread and eggs.