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riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: April 2012

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Poetry for the nuclear age. Sunday, 29 April 2012. Thursday, 26 April 2012. So I've bullet-holes up my sleeve and yet, the tricks ring false in the sweet arena of our new youth - and when I to you (that disappearing but sings) and ask why this me - you smile all arch and fringe and beauty, pop and olive and hold me till I quiver. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Poetry from a theatre director/playwright. Find me professionally here. Subscribe in a reader. The Problematic World of Lou. A handful of stones.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: In which Carson unties my tongue...

http://riflemind.blogspot.com/2013/01/i-which-carson-unties-my-tongue.html

Poetry for the nuclear age. Wednesday, 9 January 2013. In which Carson unties my tongue. 8220;I'm not explaining this right. What happened was this. There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me. And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul. I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete. Now do you follow me? Carson McCullers - 'A Tree, a Rock, a Cloud'. 9 January 2013 at 14:27. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Subscribe in a reader.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: August 2011

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Poetry for the nuclear age. Sunday, 21 August 2011. A plain voice maybe? 2:47am awake even though I know I shouldn't be - even though my eyes ache and lashes stick together when I blink. I'm going back. home. Wednesday, 10 August 2011. It was oh yes. To fix you on this earth again;. Unsex me, grail my heart. And bury it in a thousand. Years of mysteries for. Architects and polymaths to. Goad each other over -. Only then unleash me,. Wrath of that testament. God, fired over 40 nights. Dark, white skinned.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: January 2014

http://riflemind.blogspot.com/2014_01_01_archive.html

Poetry for the nuclear age. Sunday, 12 January 2014. I'm not there when it happens,. I pass by later to see red. And brick and rubble. There's already a shrine of sorts. A bus-shelter shape, not even. With tacs, the odd photos, a shoe -. These people three, I don't recognise them. It was the thing not the people. That fell, but when it fell and. As it fell more than bodies got. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Poetry from a theatre director/playwright. Find me professionally here. Subscribe in a reader.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: July 2011

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Poetry for the nuclear age. Monday, 25 July 2011. How is it that I have a spread of cards, posted from your shore. To me and I've not sent one thing back,. I'm sorry for my lack baby, this thing's consumed me here. In the home that's not, without a certain you. I'll be a better form of man, given over to. The proper pursuit of us. Sunday, 17 July 2011. If i find you, out on the river slick,. The father plane, a right there rock,. I'd say 'see, see how I am' and you might. Cock one wet ear and laugh.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: January 2013

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Poetry for the nuclear age. Wednesday, 9 January 2013. In which Carson unties my tongue. 8220;I'm not explaining this right. What happened was this. There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me. And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul. I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete. Now do you follow me? Carson McCullers - 'A Tree, a Rock, a Cloud'. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Poetry from a theatre director/playwright.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: November 2012

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Poetry for the nuclear age. Wednesday, 21 November 2012. A slide back through time, to a peach-fizz yesterday bereft of cymbals and carnival-seeking. It's a hollow half-pillow hug and a curl not quite the right circumference. A Magellan of the daylight to map my restlessness. And in the swelter a brief fly singed between a black plane. Beyond a river not meant for swimming. And a here when found, a trial. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Poetry from a theatre director/playwright. Find me professionally here.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind

http://riflemind.blogspot.com/2014/03/blog-post.html

Poetry for the nuclear age. Friday, 28 March 2014. Can you say you miss a place like a lover? Then if then I can say the Thames wends its way through my waking,. And even the thought of a Heath roll ramble brings high hearts to my beating soul,. Some drunk Camden shit-camera red-stripe abandon fills. The clavicle I left on Finchley rd when I scrambled so far north. I forgot my poppy-seed inebriate scares and left. That hated Dollis Hill-scape, all mold walls and 10quid whiskey but. Hen if for me.

riflemind.blogspot.com

riflemind: March 2014

http://riflemind.blogspot.com/2014_03_01_archive.html

Poetry for the nuclear age. Friday, 28 March 2014. Can you say you miss a place like a lover? Then if then I can say the Thames wends its way through my waking,. And even the thought of a Heath roll ramble brings high hearts to my beating soul,. Some drunk Camden shit-camera red-stripe abandon fills. The clavicle I left on Finchley rd when I scrambled so far north. I forgot my poppy-seed inebriate scares and left. That hated Dollis Hill-scape, all mold walls and 10quid whiskey but. Hen if for me.