Run The Fever

Deem. Where there is a fated feeling unstitch : unseam it Outpoured till unpicked like a storm : outwait it Fade its time like a pallor when the sun unmakes it Not your hands but watch hands that will always unhem it Till dreamlike it is unrecalled Deem it.

More fated than ease than this doubtful cease  : to seize and stop this mouth its motion Halting like halting a river to run-on : Haltless at vaunt : the grey water folds holdless as drowning : this teething of sense  : grinlike emergent : Fire knowing no ceasefire Open as a crocus this mouth’s wet smile.

Driven so long up the lowroad’s long spine to sink into my mortar : Ponder like sap so slow these gold runnels  : moving blind journal  : rivers of amber A broke tawny line veined out long and splaying : Cinnamon from these cells of mine.

A humument of smog : this night this worry-lined night Of skies an eggshell document    : silent & wrought from the space birds leave    by not taking flight The scent of a city’s frown-folded hands    & their taste  : felt like salt from a stag-lick : Worry-lined cashiered  : the evening unfurling    falls to be found    : a thing brewing.

See here is North & East    : my stem : at least by sap is flown each way : Drawn in chalk these bones from longlorn waysides    : long left : in webs of roads & then a generation’s halt : the will from stillness    sold for casks these bones did cross the channel in    : wineskins :    : from Florin : lined skins strange : & in me where is North? see here where I begin    : harrowing :    : sore :

I blame exams. After they're done -- six more sleeps -- then I have a small volume of poems to work on: a sequence to finish. So no doubt I'll be posting a fair bit more.

Unbar the Winter I’ll long where it longs  : I’ll Winter here evering the wind’s seven strings For what is the sea  : no longer a song : but salt-stained glass  : greengray bird’s longwing :    A line-monger’s lined face if it knows you not Just how standing wild can wood stand to be when its knots are unknotted when you know not the why? I’ll long the Winter  : play how you’ll not : See how it earns colours sky-changed like the sea.

When ashes came and lay on the world and knew the world and cloaked the world Tam was there and only Tam. Thunder echoed a far-off bawling. But it was noise now. It would never be a name again. Wind railed against the grey of things. It licked the ground but never set down. Only Tam walked the earth as ever. Tam and Ace and the darkening days. The sundered sky closed over like a wound. Every cloud the same shape as the sky and the whole of the sky the same colour as ground. All the world grey but where Tam lit his fire. People unsheathed their faces long ago. Revealed their muzzles when the world turned to carrion. Drums echoed in the hills. Dishwater in the valleys. Tam cracked the world’s bones and lived off its marrow. Thunder bawling in the far-off. Tam and Ace forgot their words. They grew older together than this new world. Remembered the shapes of older things but carried them barren in wordless memory. All the world grey but where Tam lit his fire. All the world lit by Tam’s dawning fire.

Got mah hurr did, properly, for the first time in ages, albeit with the exact same cut as ever. As such, here are some photos of my hurr hair's infinite (read: threefold) versatility, and my face's complete lack thereof. I have on expression one webcam, and that is the bemused frown, directed at the complex controls.

This time at the big fancy pointy neo-gothic hotel in King's Cross.

There are no names Thunder said to light the faces soil has taken : fallow lie the graves & graves knowless folded with forget. & there are tales & wise that forget masks with each gone day said the murmur of the Sea : & spoke of mothers of mothers now buried like maize whose words & wise like maize will not bear plumes & colours their childer’s children to feed. Soil then permitted writing that not all things should pass its lips. Permitted were rememberforms & membrances made of redblack shapes. The line of straight for earth’s old allness & line of curve for the shifting sky. Only Tam did not rejoy for he saw in the pictureforms the road by which all change would die & membrances be solid accepted until the world was solid too. Between the straight line & the curved line Tam fled : never to be pinned down : & between places names and formings he moved : by motion changing shoutlike.

(Featuring perhaps some of the best burgers and biggest queues in London...)