A.B. Jackson :: Fire Stations
Kicking its heels in sanctuary. Spurred on by the children. And the straw season. Care required, minimum:. Recommended food, anything,. Make the den inviting,. Give the gold nose-ring. It did not flourish:. I offered barley and mash. Without success. It grew. Lean and repetitive, slow,. Lean and repetitive. Now,. Having churned up the lawn,. The small circle of indoors. Scoring things with precise horns. Sir Harry smiles from every wall. Rain turns to sleet and falls. On three taxis planted in the rank.
A.B. Jackson :: Apocrypha
A rag-rosette was butterfly stitched,. Nettle cheese omelette,. French toast with field mushrooms,. Three more furious cigarettes. Manifest ailments: eye-gum,. Heart overrun with Japanese knotweed,. Cock not worth a docken. Mist burned off. Honey bees fussed. Religiously, as usual, over roses. Adam lay miraculous,. In a dream, he named whiskies. By nose, palate, finish:. Brine and limes, a delicate. Plasticine, emulsion paint,. Amyl nitrate. A warm horse. Kippers, treacle toffee, grassy.