I have hallucinations about roofs falling on whole families, a car running over a child, a stray bullet hitting right into a heart… Those events show glaringly that we are mere objects. Nature has its unavoidable laws.

Light is blinding, is the enemy. Desiring desire: that’s when a body disintegrates, and contaminates every river it has ever known.

Lines of trees lining a dry land form a line of pilgrimage. There’s a beyond-ness to words.

Nothing matters besides the little town’s yearning to go to sea, to never return.

A cool summer’s breeze is different from a winter’s same temperature.

Night is a subtle rain, wetting body and soul.

//

[Read in Night, published by Nightboat Books]

A passenger is boarding a ship. Let’s live before dying.

At times, an appetite for death creates a withdrawal into the nature of heat, turns the world into a blur.

A woman mourns her dead lover while everything buckles under her sorrow’s pressure. Her days are going to grow longer.

I can hear the night’s pulse. Divine will circulates around its edges. A precocious summer lies on a granite wall. The ocean is my land.

Disastrous are disasters. Paradise is such a lonely place that we are doomed, anyway. But at the meeting point of its rivers the horizon is always enlarged, the imagination, unleashed.

In the courtyard, the sun is scribbling shadows on the fading roses. I’m spending hours waiting for the next hour.

Love creates sand-storms and loosens reality’s building stones. Its feverish energy takes us into the heart of mountains. Sometimes, a frozen moon illuminates frozen fields.

There’s so much life around me, and I will have to leave.

//

[Read in Night, published by Nightboat Books]

(Baker Street station buffet)

Early Electric! With what radiant hope
Men formed this many-branched electrolier,
Twisted the flex around the iron rope
And let the dazzling vacuum globes hang clear,
And then with hearts the rich contrivance fill’d
Of copper, beaten by the Bromsgrove Guild.

Early Electric! Sit you down and see,
’Mid this fine woodwork and a smell of dinner,
A stained-glass windmill and a pot of tea,
And sepia views of leafy lanes in Pinner –
Then visualize, far down the shining lines,
Your parents’ homestead set in murmuring pines.

Smoothly from Harrow, passing Preston Road,
They saw the last green fields and misty sky,
At Neasden watched a workmen’s train unload,
And, with the morning villas sliding by,
They felt so sure on their electric trip
That Youth and Progress were in partnership.

And all that day in murky London Wall
The thought of Ruislip kept him warm inside;
At Farringdon that lunch hour at a stall
He bought a dozen plants of London Pride;
While she, in arc-lit Oxford Street adrift,
Soared through the sales by safe hydraulic lift.

Early Electric! Maybe even here
They met that evening at six-fifteen
Beneath the hearts of this electrolier
And caught the first non-stop to Willesden Green,
Then out and on, through rural Rayner’s Lane
To autumn-scented Middlesex again.

Cancer has killed him. Heart is killing her.
The trees are down. An Odeon flashes fire
Where stood their villa by the murmuring fir
When ” they would for their children’s good conspire. ”
Of their loves and hopes on hurrying feet
Thou art the worn memorial, Baker Street.

//

[Read in Six Poets: Hardy to Larkin – An anthology by Alan Bennett, published by Faber & Faber. Ripped from middlesexcountypress.com]