8 June 2025
18 October 2025
dustup
at first cosmos her sound gelled
to gestures, her profile to music:
its microscopy, colours, timbres, alloys,
narrations, notations, its sloping
flickers, intensities, rhythms, durations, accents,
birdy plainchants asleep in a pool
listen up: a trumpet dies in canaan
a tuba farts over dismal battle
casts sepulchral dawn
somme arrows over silos drone
tough-luck, pain-take, absorb-fate-to-date or
at cock call burst forth wrong
what’s this got to do a lot of damage to
when none from the silent earth can mould up straight?
can muse art hurt? a ruse! my craft relent
or yours, your blood my skin, my skin your
nails, hold tight, we might just
empty the sky of anger, the earth of love