sheaf the great question... The Cornish Table ...built dapple ‘boundaries (I)’ by alification cloud the poet cid corman and i he isn’t going to say... madam’s african cardigan... wise mountain how seen occurrence to a mind fishing elsewhere way fridays ‘boundaries (II)’ by alification write anew time less (haven’t) nothing secured sacred remember the straight understanding the word symmetry dark alley windows’... like being in love anew see ‘they won’t always tell you the news’ poetry reading transcendence desire’s light

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boundaries by mr 2009. thanks to alicia for allowing the use of her photographs and the ultimate impetus






the great question... what is this for? (do you need question marks?) is the consideration of this a self-indulgence is self-indulgence part of the answer or even part of the problem self indulgence appended by frank to miles davis appended by mark to improvisatory pieces appended via masturbation epithet to martin smither’s art college work why do it to whom direct it to myself – conversation, as if later i will see myself as others do. i will see something true. something that my ego is unable to block. do it because the run of words may be interesting in themselves containing their own intriguing aspects. to others - so that others may say – what an interesting fellow! or – what’s he going on about – something chimes here with us – we are being communicated to by a distant planet ( that being myself beyond my ego) but this is not because i want them to know who i really am! the window. the curtain it’s got some net around the window looks out onto the garden. shaded. small trees roses small garden bit of grass going down to the back. over the bushes bright clouds loom buffeted by high winds. changing constantly great rolling deep blue between a chill in the shade the gate and some leaves whirl. inside at the window looking out at all this if i was home early time to kill in consideration in the darkened living room in the stone cottage adrift the grass is long and damp an apple lays rotting wet earth dark worm casts amongst leaves

magnificent clouds whirling amongst the branches rolling and tumbling carved against the very blue bright sunshine above autumnal loneliness 4

dichotomy monumental airy dank undergrowth in the dark stone cottage cave dream of high blown clouds full of light and colour


The Cornish Table

am returned again to the bright sunlit wood round ablaze of memory!


...built up cut into jointed feathered smeared re-worked re-named re-invented inverted stretched spliced erased folded-anew put away composted waiting on requirement re-

in the far away but are any jobs real? i get money. one of those monotonous machine affairs. a tractor in the field. who benefits from this? employer gets the product i get the money. i get to look at myself doing this doing this doing. it is a pink book. shades to white under the wedding finger. ‘chemie’. the measuring vessel. ’fizika’ had a light bulb and was blue to white. hands splay across. scanner tracks. language tracks. i will take some money from my savings and make a list of things i want. with this cardigan i feel like a good boy. though dad was disappointed in the metal structure and nearly rolled off the roof. his discomfort palpable. radiations passing below. nothing comes through the back of this. weird kind of prayer position. hands splayed. no language seeps but retains itself. my skin encapsulation. 654.z molekuly etc. he leans over oh it’s not monotonous at all. i get plenty of things to think about. and all the wildlife around here the hedgerows and nature. even without taking my eyes away and falling out of love. losing my way in the numbers of pages. the old hand gives the low down on the depths of ineptitude. where the bodies are to be found. under dewey’s decimal classification tree disseminate. bring me the words that will combine all this. harvest. the high flying bird the lowly worm. the liars and the angels. the lions and lambs.


dapple wide white trunk other’s leaves Flickr like alicia’s picture map bits of scribble her world few lots

grown up

cracked up impress


‘boundaries (I)’ where i end and you begin by alification


cloud drift across a wooded hillside as the grey day begins

light rain uplifting spirits rise into nowhere strange as it may seem


the poet cid corman and i

momentary impressions where mentors scribbled on leaves leaving perhaps a zero the modern recluse swarming on sidewalks feels the same disintegration


he isn’t going to say anything about himself you’re going to say you are going to be made to think things through with him or without take a ride the ice for a slide you are going to disappear you might not like what’s the point of him telling us about himself? what does he know? what do we understand? where’s it going ice sort of but not necessarily so cold just the way of reflect shuns really tells you [shut] not much and are you listening?


madam’s african cardigan brings breeze to a ragged and sunlit grass and purple grapehyacinth along the Muller Road


wise mountain by emptiness within and around emptiness interrupting the interruptions the sea of nothingness mist of belief broken open before and all was of equality.... wept down moaned and wracked that done and believed only this that which is done


how seen

about having the space… a window cracked on half-moon time few blue flowers to the bush things to be done places to be in an unusual activity momentarily clear day bleeding change like routine


occurrence ing la natura appearance juxt tex paints plaster brick stone fun rust guts decomp position landscape the weathers light’n shadow this is for me the accumulation progress now and then again sciatic nerve history acclimatises oh like pain the crystals growing tubes narrowing


to a mind fishing elsewhere my network my finer mesh clouds and the wireless cloud monet’s flowers water &



way at the caravan window as if in bed the comfortable summer off the page to a lazy one discovered who now was saved by the power of words or was requisitioned to another master a dream of blue sky and dark heavy fruit the horse in the field warm breeze delight of solitariness and dark woods node or knot the vortex head whatever it is that beckons across distance through the tangled undergrowth where a door opened up to me then



(Enrique may yet return to art school)

the experimental pianist in the hall who's mind occupies itself with other things provides a haunting backdrop to Enrique's hesitant explanation that like a restless overflow scurries hither and thither looking for repose and tranquillity a violin draws its bow across discordant thought interlaced into the modernist world of years ago the fiddler stands feet strangely splayed with calves together so statuesque!


‘boundaries (II)’ This is my own private space (show me yours) by alification


write anew though thought gone the world buried under centuries of myself where we lived before now raised ‘heretofore unrealised’


time less (haven’t) hoods up back to blast old couple huddle on bench where from the vacuum she pours gaze eastern side spread across vale a school appearing far below between branches a glove waved good-bye in spindle bush good-bye now in dalliance down zig-zag path and sweep of hill my small boy arms akimbo care-less and hot-head inside swims and palms it like one lost in his own world


nothing secured sacred

the emptiness nothing holds on nor is held

nothing is not holding on nor is not being held


remember the straight that led to the sea either side low windswept trees gnarled and indifferent my problems growing the hill always seemed indecent or man made we argued over it my friend laughing at my seriousness you take it all too seriously he said and the road sombre now I see a brighter light at the edges the sun about to appear after rain why was it all so wasted so wrapped in dark hedgerows all the broken splinters of fragility strewn scare-wise scattered willy-nilly in our slipstream i see the long straight road


understanding the word symmetry

heart's lift

sun's warmth


dark alley windows’ panes grey sailing sky canvas across brick not what is to be seen within or sunset face orange and rose but


like being in love anew see these people with sympathy eyes the woman who lurches her car cross parking her wedding rings and is another’s delicate moment of tenderness…


‘they won’t always tell you the news’ anyroad she abandoned her means and walked back over the ridge

‘its only water’ with her strong accent and fate in her own hands


poetry reading captain cook extra terrestrial beads mirrors I give who visiting who dark planets lost continents




mother daughter sister lover the golden traceries coalesce around yr starry heaven you continue on regardless


desire’s light at the margin forest sleep complete abandon