when the sunlight
soaks into the pavement
and the asphalt
the tough roots
of the streetlights
are there to collect
every drop.

during the night
they use the heat
and light to bear
a single fruit
whose sweet fumes
lure the insects
to whirl about it
until they drop
from exhaustion.

when it is ripe
men in trucks
with ladders come
and pick the fruit.

they cannot be eaten.

they are used
in the manufacture
of televisions.

will trade
bottles for jars

I can fit
my hand in.

all bottles
clean,
no chips
or cracks.

jars must come
with lids.

all colours -
green, brown,
clear.

prefer jars
also clean,
labels okay.

all must go -
easy to empty.

two for one
trades if mint.

take too long
to fill.

the antenna
entangles my roof
with the sky

it is in the knots
and the kinks
that the signal
condenses

and trickles
down the pipes
like rainbow paint
to the television

day comes apple,
rubbing the red off,
off on the bared hands,
skin bared stains

its not the morning,
green, like grass stains,
the evening stain
bares only a flash

maybe

that could just be
just the eye flash

a diffraction
passed over
stained under

grass

or an apple seeing
an eyelash

you are a special kind of accident
waiting to happen.

you’re like a small white dog
that vomits butter pats and pearls
onto the Italian marble floor
at the top of the stairs
when the party is climaxing
in time with the music
and people are rushing
between the poolside
and the study
where an antique desk
topped with scratched glass
sits.

a skull is cracked,
but you are already asleep
in your basket.

the mountain
whispers to me -

forgets yesterday,
a perfect world
collects pictures
of plastic food
with unknown definitions,
of blue guitars
in a thousand pieces
of talking animals,
of impossible machines.

the universe | moves
the moon
in a straight line

in the forest | without fear
i live | nervous
like | a plum
with seeds

Thank you, Fridge Magnet Producers, for providing us with such immortal phrases as “of blue guitars” and “with seeds”. It is like you have x-rayed our collective psyche and found the secret structures from which all poetry is built. Now please provide us with a Particles and Prepositions expansion pack so we can expand our ouevre into prose.

I must thank my friend Niki for assisting me in the assembling and re-arranging of the above magnets into their final form. I apologise for going against her wishes and leaving out the on a bed of lettuce line. It was too much.

PS: Thank you also, FMP, on behalf of Kenneth Williams, Sid James and the entire Carry on…. ensemble, for including sausage in the selection. 

fluorescent
light light
light
light light

light

light

light light

light
light
light light

little stone,
pebble,
i can chip away
but i won’t find
diamond.

i might round
a corner,
soften an edge
or two,
but no-one
would call the results
polished.

a person
cannot do
a river’s work.

the difficult task
of survival
in the city

has been mastered
by the pigeons,
and their efforts

successfully
duplicated
by nameless men

who do not seek
credit, reward
or recognition

for their work.
All they want
is the freedom

to pursue
their reseach
in their labs

under bridges,
attend symposiums
in the parks

and sit in
on lectures
given by pigeons