Sad, but the dog fart lightens the mood.
76.
Night terrors have had the run of
The house, churning up dust and
Dirt, they leave echoes of
Laughing and chaotic footprints
77.
The dog wakes, she
Stretches, farts, her face
Curves like smiling, she
Settles back to sleep
78.
This last night in the old
House, memories, bright
Ghosts, walk through from
Room to room
79.
When we leave these
Visitations of our histories
Are not forgotten, we simply
Will not live amongst them
80.
The new house, until now, viewed
By day, the creaks and clanks
Of its night-sounds are
Intimate revelations
81.
Blandly painted, everywhere
Safe beige, tomorrow
Colour invades, brings some
Guts to the bone shades
82.
A slumped man in a doorway stirs
He remembers that he should have
Gone home, his trousers are cold
And wet, he hopes its beer
83.
An arm stretched out to follow
The wall, the stumbling drunk man
Can walk, his hands and feet
Know where he lives
84.
He knows he knows where
He is going only none of it
Is recognisable, he pats a dog
Made of brick, shaped like a wall
85.
Gravity organises the sky
The stars flow with it
They pull, they are pulled
In the universal formal dance
86.
Key in the lock, sharp
Realisation, the drink
Was intended to keep him
From remembrance
87.
A second room reflects
In the window glass
Another lamp made of light
Attracts a phantom moth
88.
A hand reaches to follow
The wallpaper, the stairs
Are found, then the bed, then
Sleep buffers loss
89.
In the labour ward, chin
Pressed to breastbone
Dignity irrelevant, a tiny
Head is crowning
90.
In the wood burner, doors
Snapped shut, a rogue flame
Licks out, the log is
A crashed dragons skull
91.
The spider is always
Going underneath things
As though the dark
Is insufficient subterfuge
92.
From sleep, rising, eyelid
Flicks open, shuts, into
Sleep descending, rotating
Through the cycle
93.
Eyes roll under cover
Process rapid cryptic
Jigsaw detail, sift boxes
Of pieces into pictures
94.
Cat walks her own
Path on the edge of the
Field, there is one mouse
Hindfoot left on the doormat
95.
Air like glass, brittle
Edged, clear, the temperature
Drops, etches frost
Crosshatched scratches
96.
A wet tangled ball of
Fabric waits behind the
Door of the washing machine
Bobbles of frost on the line outside
97.
An idea swims into focus
Splits like fertilised cells
Like fractals unfurling, it
Expands, recurs, connects
98.
A man is crying, delirious
In sleep, his defences
Are howled down, grief
Cuts a gap like an autopsy
99.
Newborn fingers play
Invisible instruments
We hear the music
The immaculate frequency
76.
Night terrors have had the run of
The house, churning up dust and
Dirt, they leave echoes of
Laughing and chaotic footprints
77.
The dog wakes, she
Stretches, farts, her face
Curves like smiling, she
Settles back to sleep
78.
This last night in the old
House, memories, bright
Ghosts, walk through from
Room to room
79.
When we leave these
Visitations of our histories
Are not forgotten, we simply
Will not live amongst them
80.
The new house, until now, viewed
By day, the creaks and clanks
Of its night-sounds are
Intimate revelations
81.
Blandly painted, everywhere
Safe beige, tomorrow
Colour invades, brings some
Guts to the bone shades
82.
A slumped man in a doorway stirs
He remembers that he should have
Gone home, his trousers are cold
And wet, he hopes its beer
83.
An arm stretched out to follow
The wall, the stumbling drunk man
Can walk, his hands and feet
Know where he lives
84.
He knows he knows where
He is going only none of it
Is recognisable, he pats a dog
Made of brick, shaped like a wall
85.
Gravity organises the sky
The stars flow with it
They pull, they are pulled
In the universal formal dance
86.
Key in the lock, sharp
Realisation, the drink
Was intended to keep him
From remembrance
87.
A second room reflects
In the window glass
Another lamp made of light
Attracts a phantom moth
88.
A hand reaches to follow
The wallpaper, the stairs
Are found, then the bed, then
Sleep buffers loss
89.
In the labour ward, chin
Pressed to breastbone
Dignity irrelevant, a tiny
Head is crowning
90.
In the wood burner, doors
Snapped shut, a rogue flame
Licks out, the log is
A crashed dragons skull
91.
The spider is always
Going underneath things
As though the dark
Is insufficient subterfuge
92.
From sleep, rising, eyelid
Flicks open, shuts, into
Sleep descending, rotating
Through the cycle
93.
Eyes roll under cover
Process rapid cryptic
Jigsaw detail, sift boxes
Of pieces into pictures
94.
Cat walks her own
Path on the edge of the
Field, there is one mouse
Hindfoot left on the doormat
95.
Air like glass, brittle
Edged, clear, the temperature
Drops, etches frost
Crosshatched scratches
96.
A wet tangled ball of
Fabric waits behind the
Door of the washing machine
Bobbles of frost on the line outside
97.
An idea swims into focus
Splits like fertilised cells
Like fractals unfurling, it
Expands, recurs, connects
98.
A man is crying, delirious
In sleep, his defences
Are howled down, grief
Cuts a gap like an autopsy
99.
Newborn fingers play
Invisible instruments
We hear the music
The immaculate frequency
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