Kenart

Completely nude men, wearing white skin underwear wash themselves in gun grey cold iron baths.

Those were the days of where?

Dripping feelings from out of her breast best and lightest dress. She sends him a photograph of her hair

Little things irritate, like they always do and larger things send her screaming for a room with the door always closed.

A night, short in June with bats and moths attracted by rainbow fluid light

The strange but regular booming served to heighten the oppressive atmosphere and I confess to a certain trepidation as I continued my somewhat erratic path upwards.

Comber of the beach as the singer sings throw the stick for your dogs trick. Floating flotsam same as the collection of jetsam.

A shot sound of bright canvas contrast. Articulation creaks of new rope on shiny surfaces. The cool that feels good blowing south smooth.

Here I will wait for you always.

An English light of summer drifting towards a school holiday sunset.

Meemawing mothers in curlers and ash flicked acted cough bandied about gate gossip all day

Rills and runnels, rock and tarn, cwm and cloudy crag.

As nightime therapy then, I listed all the happenings I could not explain

This is the start of thinking and the end of growing.

Follow dreaming days with the light before it goes, as it always.

Strange it is all so crystal both now and in your memory of eventful nights.

Each blunt pencil blood labelled, candle lit, shown in size and gallery shelved.

Between here and the coal heap, slag heap rooks with carbon stone leaves and fossil bark for collection in old green glass