The Commons set 3 // 34 - 35

according to dubious tradition
of weirds & scroungers -
“woe! my face in the -
my feet burning from me”.
This, I dunno, kind of happened
&, predictably, edited
here / inside world history
noises / brain snap.
Anyway, this has been a story
they say they were singing
but how we know that
“the doors & windows -
“burning & secure -
“enter the language & -


no meanings swarm / into
complicity etc: so, when
the weary smoke began to
rise / likewise the boiling -
heat, of course / has been
& of exile / totality is -
no meanings swarm / &
“who here can speak
the language of the dead”
emerges from music &
professionals / princesses etc
- fumes, narrative -
“golden bands / your necks etc
inc. ‘below the world’. lenin.

The Commons set 3 // 31 - 33

anyway, eclipse, as I was -
although we live in the city
- so -
they wouldn’t arrest us, their
astrology / starkly inside us.
It was a contented era, a
justification. They could not
arrest / their threads & names.
anyway, I owe this reference to
- certain international events -
- certain conformities -
it was 1974 / a ballad recalls /
“the life which once I had
by law is now controlled”


yeh, it was a contested area
- moderation, NGOs etc -
Listen, rather than suck
& with a turquoise chain
- like -
what is public knowledge is
WHACKED. Degree zero
- we were citizens of -
listen / a supreme vodka /
- merely the value that -
- sirens, as in commerce -
- & we encircled -
As law is anything or nothing,
is bended by / & like a twig


like a twig, the official position
& indigenisation / or what,
within US imperialism, gets
- as in, absolute antagonist -
or / the absence of the dead
- as in, an irradiant -
my true love, as I was saying
- we were buying weapons -
- as in, living standards -
- down to the drugstore -
or, because we don’t exist
- down by possessions, & -
- down by the gun / saying
like I was, my true love -

(after Rimbaud)

september 2003. we were wondering why the poets were silent
we: children’s books, whisky, record shops
bombed orchards, paracetomol, refugees, circuit boards
the sun, god of fire
there we have a series of verbs. they pass to & fro as if no-one had seen them.
they go in and out of random houses. signal towers. border towns.
the course of study is that simple
the legality & opacity of poets
the noises scratched into them. real constellations: beggars, economy, detonation
december 2009. a review of the year
a hell for the hands, for the hair, for the mouth, for the law. an entire symphony
360 degrees. supernatural sobriety of discontinued nouns
the reservoir at dawn
direction multiplied by velocity. glimpses of improbable harmony