this is your infected umbilical, the size of a small fist,

this is the chip in your enamel from falling into the bird bath,

the crooked bone and thinned nail of dropping iron weights,


these are the golden beads creeping in your damp peppered brow

this is you a new unknown quiet, in winter blue,

you tucked, folded, curled in hummings


these are scarlet angry islands rising

coating every underbelly of your surface

this is you hiding soaking from the white summer, your rasping rattling chest

brown water and your potting belly

this is the twinge of your paddle hip between plastic pincers


this is the maddening heat of you pressing into you, clad in grey, refusing to soften

this is you scalding pink, crossing, uncrossing, shifting in the corner

your gentle sloping, slipping, your fixed twisting neck tearing and giraffed

this is you lifting lace up around swollen drying humps

flaking weary limbs

the pause…


the first hole in that lobe as you began to smoke,

the tiny diamond where your teeth caught

 the white line of cutting lavender in the summer,

the second hole, sharp inhalations, iced, pressed in hairy metal hooped well 

the dip in the shadow of your bottom lip and all those nights on knees in toilets after,

this is you, all laid out, sweet pink tips pressed upon the cream, the tiny prick and buzz spreading unseen midday sun


this is the shiny patch from the pan of boiling water,

the damson heath weeping above your forced smile

 the tighter corner from the swelling,

the half star from the glass mirror,

you swooning, stomach knotted, buttocks pressed in clotting sauce


this is you twisting golden hair,

yanking to make rope

you shoving, a shower of glass sparks


this is the crescent at the end your brow shaped by slate wall,

the glare of  orange light splashed across your face

a distant rumbling on the tracks

the pause….


clove sweat, rose trickle

your hot clammy hand hooked around windpipe

red LED blinking

this is you dragging down ancient wood chip covered over and over with emulsion

the treacle tear carpet fissure

the crick from you squeezing until it all went black,


the pause......


before clambering on all fours back

the grey thinness of really seeing,


you smoking in the dead light

dim green glare on your aching wrist

the tobacco cloud about your head smothering panicked gaze


the pause…


this is you slowly crimpling

these are your scorched veins, heathers trickling


this  is  you mapping channels, running just below the fullness of his moon

this is the brightness of you mouthing

the going underneath

this is your hair spread like iron soldiers along the pillow

these are your lips pursed, dry, peeling

the gulp twist as you try to draw in air


 and pause…


rings on runners

the ward darkened weight of this waiting space

this is you husking


gazing at a blinking city through weary corner

this is you pressed against the wall looking out the other way

seized by laughter caving into crying


your panic as the door opens

this is your pink TIP straining

throat raw reaching

this swollen creature lingers


waits, for the trains to come,

nudging not quite here

this is you turning in the dead night, pushing at the window with salt eyes

your hot shivers

the scratch of heavy white against your powdering leg


you clawing 

a weighing down of your chest

your dumb struck brittle ribs

your silent howl, shudder, heaving,  coming and going

this is you here not gone


this is you yellowing

teal creeping through

the gold hoop, stuck, in the cold creases of  your fingers

the smell of you drying, the heat of you struggling,

 the gurgle of you going­


the pause...

noetic corpus

in this urgent sleepless city