swimswam.wordpress.com

hedgingyourbets.wordpress.com

joelistix | hedging your bets

https://hedgingyourbets.wordpress.com/author/joelistix

May 3, 2016. It must always be the living that die that burn. that dutton rat that rat singing to rats singeing cats. two dud buttons for eyes let me count the ways that i would – you know a politician cannot burn … Continue reading →. May 2, 2015. Trying to say the th thing i can’T say can’t think The c(h)at / The video not available in my country in your country You’re not my country this is not my tongue in my mouth You’re not my friend, … Continue reading →. January 14, 2015. January 2, 2015. I think...

hedgingyourbets.wordpress.com

DIARY FARM | hedging your bets

https://hedgingyourbets.wordpress.com/publications/diary-farm

Diary Farm is a chapbook published by Vagabond Press as part of their Rare Objects series. The description on the Vagabond site goes like this:. Are cells in a dispersed field spanning Berlin and Sydney. The experiences in them are scattered; patterns of distracted consciousness. The dispersion occurs through bodies, hearts, language(s), boats. News and political disaster sprayed through the feed channels and coughed back up, rearranged around the space of the page. You can buy it on the internet here.

wordhome.wordpress.com

Wordhome's Blog | word-transit. | Page 2

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/page/2

July 7, 2010 at 6:36 am ( journal. The journal is useless and i’ve largely stopped submitting poems abroad. July 4, 2010 at 3:52 am ( draft. There are commonalities between us,. I say ‘you know when…’. And you nod- we connect. It is this that reassures my. But nothing can reassure me. Not here, not when i stop. Acting intrinsically, when. My parachute is up and i’m. A complete lack of faith. In action, reaction, anything passing. Through tangentially- and its all tangential. My pen unmasks me. There&#821...

wordhome.wordpress.com

shell | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2010/09/26/shell

September 26, 2010 at 4:16 pm ( poetry. As a representative of myself;. In a segmented and beery crowd. Like any delegate will understand,. The intervals are painful to bear. But the action is an honour to witness. Wrapped up in skin, clothes and sweat. I am invisible;. Though i sense the uplift, the beat,. The highs and lows leading to bridges. And finishes on major chords. On my own shoulders. I have the best view in the room. Of the sun-setting prop,. And the bottles of alcohol,. Half drunk on the amps.

wordhome.wordpress.com

attraction/repulsion | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/02/17/attractionrepulsion

February 17, 2011 at 7:55 pm ( poetry. This alleyway is obscured. In the fog of vaporised pulp fiction. A microcosm of children. And drinking imported liquor. In a glass ball,. Which could be bought in a tourist shop. At any moment it’s not absurd. To expect to see. A camera on a trolley rolling past,. Effortlessly capturing the haughty looks. Of the communal solipsists. The idea that this place. Is not a movie set, or an asylum,. Or an organised mimic of ‘alice in wonderland’. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.

wordhome.wordpress.com

meta-sketch | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2010/08/22/meta-sketch

August 22, 2010 at 11:37 pm ( poetry. So i come over to your table. at first you don’t notice. i’m subtle. when you do you ignore me with mesmerizing profundity. i sit opposite you, reach across the table and with my purple hands, gently open your clenched jaw, feeling the wet underside of your lips. my hand, like a bomb, rests on your tongue and you’re really crying now. I withdraw, pay for my coffee and leave. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public).

wordhome.wordpress.com

the lunatic’s memory | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/01/30/216

The lunatic’s memory. January 30, 2011 at 6:59 pm ( poetry. Curled up inside a coil of light,. He steers the spiral with hallucinations. Along a barely glimpsed trajectory. That’s how these evenings happen,. Eyed through a multifocal castle,. As he curses and laughs,. Pacing behind stained glass windows,. The syncopater on the mantlepiece. The memories he has. He gathers on a table,. To watch them seep blood. Into shapes of tears. He gathers the tears into his lap. And wonders why he brought them out.

froschperspektive.wordpress.com

Posted to Germany | Vanessa Berry’s adventures in German and Germany | Page 2

https://froschperspektive.wordpress.com/page/2

Vanessa Berry’s adventures in German and Germany. March 5, 2008. I could spend a long time in the record basement. At first I start going through Alternative Rock , but it is much less interesting than World or Folk . Specifically, I would like some sad Russian folk music. Perhaps sad is the wrong adjective for it. I would like some failed crops and only stones to eat type of music. Price sticker, 5.00. Logo of The International Organisation of Folk Art. Text in Russian, in red, with flowers. There is a ...

wordhome.wordpress.com

slip | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/04/07/slip

April 7, 2011 at 4:05 am ( poetry. Or showering after swallowing. With the consistency of smoke,. Then ending up in the rain. Rubbing up against a concrete pillow,. A glass bottle blanket. And then getting colder. And the wetness getting louder,. The grey getting softer. Through glazed, heavy lids. Then falling, or rising. Without being lifted,. On fire in certain parts. Like the nape of the neck. Laughing like acting,. Carrying into the ceiling. Beyond even the theatre-screen,. April 9, 2011 at 10:20 pm.