Two poems from My Lightweight Intentions

The ing thing

Transgressing
             a brilliant surface,
 little slanted forays
      lead to bonding
   over
       trivia-quiz nights

way off
          in the lucre wilderness -
an exponential increase
       in indistinct bundles
            huddling in
        to buildings,
 adapting to circumstance

quoting
    "The Portable Financier"
the minister for something or other
          berates
                   co-operation -
the nation's mind's
                        a blank

            

scrolling through
           your best concerns,
 having an admiration
            for institution,       for
                   committee,     for quislings,
 you must address
              the technicians -

    touch a balloon
    to talk to one
    of our people.
    touch  a question
    to hear a reply.

            

                  next,    you're
outperforming
          those spacy
                year planners !

        lead us to your
        Writers' Centres !
        dot     dot     dot

            


dismantling
       web sites
   brings you     sorrow,
eating
         disorders,
attention deficit syndromes,
                   virii

        this is the same
        project isn't it ?
        you just get
        older on the job.

            

staying
      out late      you're
         a public nuisance,
then staying awake
     for the infomercials -
morning's nothing
   floats along
 like an unrecovered
         flight recorder

            

tilting
    into
          image suck-out.
      talk is cheap
      but
      money talks
"Today,"
      declares
          the art critic
"money doesn't
      only talk,
it may criticise
                & curate."
        an especially
        schizoid blah
        de blah -
        &
        I feel guilty
        all the time !

            

serving up
      delicious gizzards
          with two-tone pilled
                           desserts

        "whose hair
         is in the jam ?"

say something, supermodel !

        "an echo in the handset
         every time I pick it up

         no dial tone here
         something wrong"

        "Hi Anon !"

            

                    this
shambling
     contingency,
             (writing a poem) -

work's
  for me,   a sanctuary
         from building sites
 from something else
   from evil duco-scratching
                     truants
    if-not-already, soon-to-be
excluded
        from its realm -
                         work's

            

             so,     now
who's driving ?

reversing freighters'
   soothing sound
            just a brick away
 stuffed into
        the narrowest lane

             whole days
 drifting away
   this way

    

taking so long
    to write the book -
only to be
 remaindered.


 

A sense of

for Adam Aitken



tip tip tip tip tip
little cylinders
of carbon
falling in the rangehood,
shadowy
like a Maya Deren movie,
or Moholy-Nagy maybe.
scene set -

so somebody says to
get out the noisy
Helsinki plates -
start the proceedings -

I do
token ceremony
only -

going word
by word -
'null'
for instance.

the brainwave had,
make the statement -

"disappointed by
my century's
pragmatics,
I declare
the age of riesling."

perhaps, beyond
the arty palaver -
this
could be seen
as peculiar antics

or a phrase -
'as something
as a bug'
for example.

perhaps revealing
too much temperament,
just too much
but


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