the unknowable transforming point 71/ 75

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Nae Chance

A man at the monday door and sun evening everyone opening not me
start on a fresh page after telephone interruptions
and someone knocking at doors
with funny little look at me with my paper
that never happened in day one
after the war things were quiet and shellshocked
it was all over
make it nice
and keep it up that chin
friends school with surrealism
disabled people who ache
torrents of scales piano tuners
limpid white stick
and hope the idiot from organics I think that’s the knocker just goes
slime away
nae chance
and back to the flow six doors down
it was as if nothing mattered
just absenting oneself from something
one had madder rose in the water colour box
it was all go
enter the entering into floral catastrophes
and breech cells in three turned spin
in electrical nodes of microwave accumulation
fixed point of reference invisible
when it’s always changing according to whatever opinion reigns at any one point
split the difference
at the grand piano and work at the meaning
if only one had the time
railways and timetables

Flesh tint

There were three door canvases to come
flesh tint black and white
the story of the exhibition barely uncurled
when it was time to know about the dust underneath the piano
resounding at four 33” of the clock
nearly time to catch the bus and ficfuc home
this a monstrously well behaved behaviour
and stay in that box for decades why don’t you
let me out the box squeaked
the particle past participle clenching her first
to pound these keys cluster
the irate part of the arc of sans
in time with the explorative gesture
on an ancient keyboard recording
the resonance for samples to be
the electronic she swim
swirls sound of integral sophisticated phone you back later
oops not
leave a message why don’t you
when it’s ok to let the lasciare vibrare stop
it can go on longly
33 mins to four
that sounds better
feel the notes and arm weight
gestures more of less controlled
lots of fingering and spy work to inherit the gists
think think how the time goes
have to leave it till next time
when after I read the introduction
it was safe to scan the horizon
for any advancing obstacles
which amazing extrapolation smacked the fingers with authority
according to my imaginary landscape


In a landscape not my piece
but cage it in all words most frowned
but like it or not
she stood proud in her it’s like that then like this
which fingering did you not use
he was thin and whiney
and made us read from a book
academic funny old stuffy stuff
made to feel sick and terrorrified
nothing to do with piano
where’s the piano


Panic a long line of panics before it was splash some paint
so tight buttoning behaving like two clean socks
and ignoring the sharp pain in your belly
cold wind train in a short skirt
time to go home again
stair rod of rain wet leather back
and cello also
on transport raised a huge hilarity
all round ok
bully bully don’t look back
past the keep your eyes on the cello
and hands on face to hide my derision
quite place travel travel long
bus dark
night drops of cold rain
anhydrous in the cold cold night

Forever and piano smell

I need to sleep
I need to weep
my father was gone
lit another cigarette on the way
its’ minty cool and softening
feel swirly smoke floundering in the dampness
and drunk man about
that’s what I keep remembering back there
about the danger
panic growing up in pan tonal crepuscular blast
what’s behind me don’t look back
stay quiet
don’t comment
observation inksmell
these orchestral chords
and inside it’s sound
like the centre of the earth cello space
forever and piano smell



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