Sunday, November 29, 2009

The Commons set 3 // 29 - 30

objects / tobacco & brandy
or something truly ridiculous
class struggle / in poetry also
- yawn -
its contagion is spread
via rhymsters, their embers
their swarms of bone
not zombies, sirens
criss-cross a fraudulent
a map of, of what -
got an art council grant
will burn their houses down
- yawn -
everyone’s been buried alive

objects / of the future
who we’re speaking to
- or there is no future -
- so, like, tough shit -
but still your shadows
still they block us
are still eating us
even inside the poem
its rowdy echoes
we are drowned inside
sirens, as I was saying
or, of course, the law
our ruins our octaves
you speaking in them

Monday, November 16, 2009

The Commons set 3 // 27 - 28

meanwhile, we were documentaries
a code made of letters, like
unaroused by official culture.
For some reason, it was 1649,
we were trapped inside it, clutching
our most reasonable point of view.
I can’t say more / vast territories
of our singing selves, decommissioned.
Maybe it was 2003, or something,
I don’t remember, my favourite laws
were just a system of false brains
I recognise that / splintered & oblique
social utterance flaming malevolence
magnetic, would soon go dancing etc

our minds are clean & pleasant
the sphere of employment
- blank -
listen, we are your friends
gliding like magazines / we
inside each nations serenity
sitting near you on the bus
totally harmless characters
strange and flattering numbers
seriously, trickling inside
what we once were / we
esoteric in panic
swifter than birds
in our social role, objects -

Sunday, November 15, 2009

(after Rimbaud)

complaint registered March 18th 1871
what I liked were crumbled octaves, fruit markets
xenography, petticoats, reservoirs
where mathematical fluid and relics of social movements might
no verb: complaint registered Nov 1989
we are still in Cimmeria
the point is a total reworking of all definitions
that means history, senses, cellular matter
here primarily for networking, interested in traditional values
abandoned pubs, tonal constellations, humanitarian intervention
where known scholars and professionals might
kept alive by musical systems
ancient wavelengths, electric liquids
dense silence in city parks

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The Commons set 3 // 25 - 26

hello / we are your life
- stop -
now it is March 18
& we are a syllable
like a non-frequency
our twists & circles
ie the gypsy davy
- stop -
- we are your octave -
- not zombies, sirens -
- ie obsolete music -
- 1871, march -
- choke -

so, I’ve been in the penn
with the rough & rowdy
echoes, letters & notes
- musical ones -
“10, 000 were drowned
that never were born”
ie register that
via export of capital
understood as the dead
encircle us, in a sense
was a mole in the ground
no, sorry, I mean a census
I mean the police computer
as centre of gravity / irradiated