Stephen Robertson

Slanting Lines

Concordance

This concordance provides an index to every word in the poems, excluding a list of common "stopwords".  It may be useful in finding a half-remembered poem, and perhaps in looking at the usage of words in the poems as a whole.  It will be readable only on a large screen.

E

// // That book will hold against your
ear a shell // // whose music makes your languid pulses race:  // //
/ // no words, no human language in my
ear , // // no voices in the almost-silence that I hear.  // // The wo
hats and the like, appropriate to some
earlier era of the house’s existence.  We left the room unpainted for
inding my way through the scree so much
earlier .  // // Later, much later, I limp into harbour.  My // // fam
/ or bend or hitch or bead?  // // Some
earlier occasion when // // our life-lines must have crossed, // //
Periodical // //
Earth , air, // // fire and water: just the four— // // but the chem
series // // // Elemental fib…  // //
Earth , // // air, // // fire, // // and water.  // // Need just a f
th // // are elemental: water, sky and
earth // // and rock and air; no fire and no gold, // // no gems nor
to cross the waters, // // explore the
earth , // // and send signal fires // // blazing into the air.  // /
trees // // fruit-laden boughs bent to
earth // // apples in the grass // //
r winds.  Broadcast the secret // // to
earth , as far away as it will go.  Let the browns // // and reds and g
o the encroaching dark.  // // Feel the
earth .  Feel the water return // // to the dry ground.  Let the cooling
earthed.  // // On the dark side of the
earth , // // in the light of a fire, // // and faint starlight from
assing time.  // // Far down below, the
earth // // is mostly water.  // // From across the waters // // blo
passing between them // // or down to
earth .  // // Seconds later, over the drumming rain, // // a sharp wa
// Now is the time // // to lie on the
earth , // // smell the air, // // feel the warmth of the fire, // /
/ // of love unfinished or of peaceful
earth , // // the mill-girl’s beauty or the maiden’s death, // // the
iots can clatter by— // // we have the
earth , the water and the sky.  // //
g into the air.  // // Our space is the
earth , // // time lives in fire, // // leaving us the water and the
st a Fire.  // // The others too I love—
Earth , Water, Air—but Fire // // is something else again.  // // A me
// // Between two beds of clean-raked
earth // // Where tender shoots may venture forth // // On weed-o’er
e columns spaced, // // lightning rods
earthed .  // // On the dark side of the earth, // // in the light of
/ Up there are storms and calms, // //
earthquake -waves and volcanic dust, // // soft breezes and winter gal
irs // // moistening the many-coloured
earths .  // // In forests and in open spaces // // there are times //
utting up resistance // // throwing up
earthworks // // zipping up your jacket // // tying up your shoelace
// difficult scree but then joining an
easier // // path with spectacular views over Bassenthwaite.  // // W
occupant, known as Mister Gray, // // (
easier than his proper name of Gouriet) // // had come as a child six
ping, shortening // // left alone they
easily win—but // // there was an old man called Michael Finnegan— //
seas // // One to ten million:  Middle
East // // Bam Posht; Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railways; bor
gland, once.  If you follow the west-to-
east coast-to-coast walk devised by Wainwright, you get sunburnt on th
// The first boilers of iron plate glue
east // // Grow face fa-cai thick soup.  // // XO sauce explodes to g
across the creek // // and had a go at
East Hills.  // // A once in a century storm, // // that was thought
w light-beams almost horizontal; // //
East Hills aglow.  // // Winds moaning round the corners and the rooft
East Hills // // Hills?  Well, dunes // // maybe two or three metres
more apple hits the muddy grass.  // //
East wind // // Winds bowling through trees // // fruit-laden boughs
.  // // First to Hunmanby on the north-
east Yorkshire coast // // for the requisite square-bashing.  And the
high-pitched.  The borders we cross are
eastward : // // under the channel and then from France to Belgium.  //
e churn // // of waves upon the sand. 
Eastwards we turn, // // along the open beach, in rich sea air.  // /
Dining table?  // // No.  // // Beside
easy chair?  // // No.  // // On television?  // // No.  // // Desk?  /
h.  // // Who is this now, who dares me
eat a peach?  // // Time’s warring chariots can clatter by— // // we
// If Aristotle makes you choke // //
eat me instead.  // // My ancestor caused Eve to know // // more than
/ A monstrous hole, quite big enough to
eat // // the park and all the houses down the street.  // // We join
t and melt, // // form and reform each
ebb and flow, each moonphase // // and each season (the navigation bu
?  // // The glistening mud left by the
ebb -tide.  // // The moored boat listing on the mudflat.  // // The sa
or aping the style of that wonderfully
eccentric twentieth-century American poet, // // Mr Ogden Nash, and c
tal order).  // // Rhythmic verses with
echoed refrain // // in the rhythmic clattering noise of the train.  /
// Hear the marsh-birds calling // //
echoes of the distant sea-swell rock them // // Breath the scents the
// Oh, people spread!  Quick, guys, an
ecstasy of fumbling, // // building the clumsy barriers just in time
bridge when it was still managed by Jim
Ede (he would pick up a Brancusi stone head, or a small cut brass piec
up // // to rampart rock walls, knife-
edge against // // the deep blue sky.  We take our boots off, // //
// the bare rocks and the ridge, knife-
edge against the sky.  // // What do they know, the rain and the air? 
gone, // // when both lines crossed an
edge , // // and two seemed to twist into one, // // right there, ben
s it sheds) // // on the grove’s outer
edge , contains our own // // tree-house, a canted deck of ancient pla
ham Tarn.  // // Then back to skirt the
edge of Malham Cove, // // with fields below and limestone crags abov
and land with my // // shin on a knife-
edge of rock that protrudes from the // // edge of the path, not yet
/ Marry, find a home // // on the very
edge of Sheffield // // facing the Derbyshire moors.  // // But the n
On Skiddaw // // Holiday cottage, the
edge of the Lake District— // // family wanting to rest and recuperat
of rock that protrudes from the // //
edge of the path, not yet blunted or bowdlerized.  // // Broken?  It m
inter’s afternoon // // we walk to the
edge of town and on // // the mile across the river meadows // // to
the marsh-birds calling // // water’s
edge , the birds are searching, finding.  // // Breath the scents the s
forage up the beach.  // // At water’s
edge the oyster-catchers, gulls // // compete for surface scraps.  Th
SoundsTriolets // // On Rushup
Edge // // Voices far across the valley sound // // through still, w
vening.  A great dark cloud // // fire-
edged , blots out the setting sun.  // // Later, the clouds amass:  //
/ // shed leaves with perfect sculpted
edges .  // // A bramble sends great arcing shoots, // // strong curve
nd planted fireworks // // in the dark
edges beyond the flickering light.  // // Nearly-five-year-old Colin /
e bracken // // has been ploughed, the
edges fenced, the house // // demolished and rebuilt.  The trees rema
eflections // // High up above, at the
edges of the air // // and the beginning of space // // the sky is d
had missed: // // fragments around the
edges of the blaze.  // // Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my fa
r the marsh-birds calling // // to the
edges of the sea-grass—pauses, // // Breath the scents the sea-winds
lott.  // // In the duck-weed-smothered
edges // // Skinny rats sniff out the ledges, // // While between th
self inside.  // // Movement is faster,
edgier , rougher.  // // Rough softness grows // // but hardness canno
owing // // their lighter backs, a few
edging // // towards the brown.  // // Autumn fruit is growing fat, /
rough the brain // // and splits apart
Edwardian disdain.  // // Man and drill are two, and now are one:  //
the local protest, but to small // //
effect .  At last we felt we had to call // // a halt to worry, and ag
.  A hundred yards // // of man’s best
effort at defence // // drops thirty feet into a hole.  // // Cambrid
g’s // // way of making // // another
egg // // then what I should // // not be doing // // is counting /
t be doing // // is counting // // my
eggs .  // //
… but if the chicken // // is just the
egg’s // // way of making // // another egg // // then what I shoul
as built me some buses which boosted my
ego —the // // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a fine plan.  // // We al
amphire, // // the oyster-catcher, the
egret , the gliding gull.  // // What do they know, the rain and the ai
// one, // // two, three, // // five,
eight .  But // // “Fibonacci”’s four— // // not a Fibonacci number. 
e garage sits // // a miniature wooden
eight -drawered chest // // given to me (budding carpenter) as a child
e to three hundred and sixteen thousand
eight hundred:  Scotland // // Dufftown; Deeside; Dumfries // // roa
six for king lear; // // seven hamlet;
eight macbeth; nine // // for any other choice.  You’ll find // // t
thought would cross my five- // // or
eight - or ten-year-old imagination.  // // It stands within a grove of
b, two anapest] feet // // [make up an
eight -syllable] beat.  // // Selec- // // tions will do // // for fi
Peckham 1969—1991 // // Of
eighteen sixty vintage, the house is flat // // in face, no sign of t
not even have proper names.  // // The
eighth layer has not been started yet, so the only thing to do about /
// // Strapped to my thigh // // with
elastic and velcro.  // // Below, a nozzle and tap.  // // Above, a tu
use // // to inform or confuse, // //
elate or validate or grieve— // // these words live.  // //
The Bendix washing machine was already
elderly // // when my mother, acquiring a newer model, donated // //
alves from a washing machine.  // // An
electric fan.  The dial of a clock.  Another dial, // // from a stand
cal purpose // // now half-forgotten. 
Electrical components.  // // A pair of cast-iron supports for an old
unt of water you need as this will save
electricity . // // Always make sure that the lid is proper
// stuccoed and flat-fronted.  // // No
electricity — // // gas lighting from the thirties; // // two taps; o
ale.  A device // // for demonstrating
electricity to children: // // a wooden board on which are mounted //
Fibonacci series // // //
Elemental fib…  // // Earth, // // air, // // fire, // // and water
es to be found along my path // // are
elemental : water, sky and earth // // and rock and air; no fire and n
, pigeon // // mouse’s back, mole’s or
elephant’s breath // // peignoir, charlotte’s locks, nancy’s blushes
// … and one poet // // Thomas Stearns
Eliot // // wrote poetry well, but // // was no great shakes // //
ks, that chatter and meander; // // of
Ellen , Norna, or of Rosamunde.  // // Sorrow, longing, dreams pervade
Water, Air—but Fire // // is something
else again.  // // A memory // // (nineteen-sixty-one or so—my teens—
ude, // // in birthday suit and little
else arrayed?  // // I think he’d add a note to his remark— // // in
ur-inch rings surely to be found // //
elsewhere in the garage).  // // The bench was once // // a kitchen d
curtained bed next door: // // someone
else’s fragile life is there.  // //
curtained bed next door: // // someone
else’s fragile life is there.  // // Each new doctor asks the same onc
This poem
eludes me // // No time // // for flow // // or rhyme, // // no.  /
extracted from my fickle memory— // //
elusive and illusive treasure, she.  // //
cross the park at the back // // a low
embankment carries the railway track.  // // (Down the slope to the en
the south-west: // // marked by a bolt
embedded in // // the Newlyn harbour wall.  // // One day, a storm wi
find it cold, but every day // // the
embers beneath the ash were darkly glowing, asking only // // a sligh
imber // // let it burn // // glowing
embers // // smoulder down // // let it burn // // warm as toast //
/ // sparks take flight // // glowing
embers // // throw on timber // // let it burn // // glowing embers
// flames gone // // last glow // //
embers warm // // fading now // // last glow // // tiny light // /
lames gone // // potatoes roast // //
embers warm // // flames gone // // last glow // // embers warm //
// // a book should suck you into its
embrace .  // // Fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast spell.  // // T
he soft and sensuous flesh joins love’s
embrace .  // // Mother and child are two, and now are one: // // no p
Emerald Lake // // The winding trails // // through forests waking t
the oven of the pre-war Aga, they will
emerge // // a startling deep red, and taste delicious.) // // Anoth
// to expect that a train // // will
emerge from the vanishing point.  // //
he wet beach // // and watch the stars
emerge .  // // Sharp dots; but watch and do not blink.  // // In time,
// What was it, then, from which I just
emerged ?  // // Did I jump, or was I pulled or pushed?  // // Did I le
movement in the corner?  The hem of an
emerging apparition?  // // Don’t be silly, that’s … omigod, it’s a co
eholds in // // Essex and Kent, // //
Emily Thornberry’s // // photo gives Labour a // // cardiovascular /
rd.  // // — // // 1973.  Six-year-old
Emily visits.  // // At home, two days later, // // she says to her d
nds bordering the Mediterranean, // //
empires rise and fall.  Battles are fought, // // wars are lost and w
rchment, new quill pen, and ink.  // //
Employ a messenger.  // // I love you.  // // Curtained parlour.  Send
.  // // Can this go on forever?  // //
Empty again, in harsher light.  // // Another softness, giant but gent
oftness grows still, fades away.  // //
Empty spiral hardness rests // // on the sea-bed.  Forever?  // // An
he shoulders of its owner, but actually
empty . // // The sitting room of our house in Peckham, the
n’t be silly, that’s just the bin—needs
emptying .  // // That knocking?  Footsteps in the next room?  // // Do
g six of us.  // // L-shaped the house;
enclosed within its arms // // a walled garden, left untended // //
// floated on air // // when Maggie’s
encomium // // came to be known to ’im. // // … and one poet // //
sharp and natural too: // // pale sky
encounters dark sea.  // // On the sand, a scattering of razor shells
ly glowing, asking only // // a slight
encouragement .  As the day went on, // // we generated quantities of
inds, let it whirl away // // into the
encroaching dark.  // // Feel the earth.  Feel the water return // //
eld flooded and then left // // to the
encroaching mud.  On the far bank // // of the next bend, another san
uty brought he forth; // // and at the
end , almost with dying breath, // // a swan-song, left behind for us
ring theory // // The beginning is the
end and // // the end is the beginning and // // the bit in the midd
The beginning is the end and // // the
end is the beginning and // // the bit in the middle is // // as lon
xpress Européens pass by.  // // In the
end , it was the railway // // that contrived to send us on our way.  /
/ that something is growing at the tail
end of my colon: // // probably malignant.  // // ‘Malignant’ seems t
bush are saved forever).  // // At the
end of summer, and in the first mists // // or wild winds of autumn,
The bench // // At one
end of the bench in the garage sits // // a miniature wooden eight-dr
so—my teens—already // // between the
end of the Chatterley ban // // and the Beatles’ first LP; // // str
// These are the buffers, this is the
end of the line.  // // The last post has been sounded.  // // The las
// Nothing remains // // but the fuzzy
end of the lollipop and the squeezed out tube of toothpaste // // tha
ay track.  // // (Down the slope to the
end of the street and right, // // the line bridges over the road.)
This may be the
end // // The dance // // In her very own month of May // // she sa
ere we met and all was well; // // the
end , the moment life just seemed to drain // // away from you, in tho
In my
end …  // // This train terminates here.  // // Please take all your be
low us away // // Horizon’s clear from
end to end // // Way-hay, blow us away // // No hope of whistling up
away // // Horizon’s clear from end to
end // // Way-hay, blow us away // // No hope of whistling up a wind
es.  // // It flows.  // // To find its
end , where must it flee?  // // To the sea.  // // Tumbling through ro
ttention to metre, until I can mark its
end with such a strong and obvious rhyme // // that even if my audien
d a way.  // // And now today // // is
ending .  I suppose tomorrow’s still // // another day // // to find
rey-black ocean, // // the bottomless,
endless ocean.  // // Where are we going?  // // Something is changing
home in Camberwell.  // // Between the
endpoints there were many days // // —or should have been—for many ki
words to make it plain.  // // Two book-
ends bracket our shared domain: // // the start, the lobby of a Greek
st we go to the front to see // // the
engine , wheels bigger than me— // // a great big monster, steaming, b
lway line passes near.  // // After the
engine’s noisy roar, // // coaches follow along the track: // // the
rds their major source of trade:  // //
England .  // // Back the way we came.  // // All verse is born free.  /
of a life // // We walked across
England , once.  If you follow the west-to-east coast-to-coast walk dev
, perhaps // // (when the tide is high
enough ) // // as far the cliff.  The wind // // whips the spume //
// Seven syllables would be // // long
enough for any line.  // // With a terse verse form, you see, // // I
eing you in different ways.  // // Days
enough for giving and receiving.  // // Did I give enough?  // // I ca
giving and receiving.  // // Did I give
enough ?  // // I cannot say.  // //
// // to be good.  That’s good // //
enough , I suppose.  // // Battle lines // // // // // // // //
ink.  // // A monstrous hole, quite big
enough to eat // // the park and all the houses down the street.  //
om side to side, // // verbosely quite
enough to float or sink a battle-ship.  // // But perhaps instead I wi
d past, // // maybe catch // // close
enough to make you jump, or far away, // // the thud as one more appl
r one brief hour // // the air is warm
enough to melt // // the topmost layer.  The frost returns // // to
urther north the rain teems down // //
enough to overflow // // the river Don and flood the plain.  // // Th
begin unwrapping till it’s // // light
enough to see.  // // Below the bulges, // // not yet decipherable, /
many kinds of loving.  // // Did I love
enough ? use every day?  // // Days for seeing you in different ways. 
(or Bunch of Hooligans) // // later to
enrol , when they come to Paris // // Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravin
fill the kettle above the MAX level and
ensure that it is always above the MIN level. // // Only f
esh clay tablet, stylus, scribe.  // //
Entrust to messenger.  // // I love you.  // // Flowing Nile.  Send a l
then still Westmorland.  It wasn’t very
environmentally friendly of us, but it felt right. // // M
d.  // // The cliff // // is of course
ephemeral , built // // not only on, but of, // // sand.  All along t
Epicycle // // Wake.  // // Feel the water.  Push out below, // // te
/ Damn—I had forgotten // // that this
equation also needs some zeta factor // // and my clear beta, gamma,
nection // // alpha to beta using this
equation , // // then follow that suggestion // // to make the beta,
Cores // // Cut a kiwi // //
equatorially : // // no pips, no stone.  // // Avocado: // // pole-to
no, for once // // cut an apple // //
equatorially // // see its secret: // // the apple is a five-pointed
ate.  // // Orange, lemon, lime:  // //
equatorially // // squeeze the juice // // leave the pith and pips. 
d the like, appropriate to some earlier
era of the house’s existence.  We left the room unpainted for the best
/ // (Next time around, in the digital
era // // we will take the turn on the zero, not the one // // makin
// One day, a storm will // // simply
erase them.  // // Four years ago a storm demolished // // the dunes
// now the Gurkhas are happy—some shiny
erection to // // burnish my halo.  Ah, I have a whim // // to build
ship and one bell.) // // we there did
espy a fair pretty maid // // with a comb and a glass in her hand.  //
nd // // taking two toeholds in // //
Essex and Kent, // // Emily Thornberry’s // // photo gives Labour a
e Internationale des Wagons-Lits // //
et des Grands Express Européens pass by.  // // In the end, it was the
moonshine // // Fin de siècle.  // //
Ethel Sargant, botanist // // (Girton student 1880s) // // builds a
oad’s cacophony.  // // Through air and
ether people mutter, shout, // // voices, ipods, phones speak out.  //
he world // // One to thirty million: 
Eurasia // // Kuril’skiye Ostrova; Kirgiz Step; Karakoram Ra // // c
agons-Lits // // et des Grands Express
Européens pass by.  // // In the end, it was the railway // // that c
nd stumbling— // // how in hell did he
evade the line?  // // Oh bugger!  Now we have to get away.  // //
From across the waters // // blow the
evanescent airs // // moistening the many-coloured earths.  // // In
t me instead.  // // My ancestor caused
Eve to know // // more than Jehovah thought she should— // // but ke
to be synthesised.  Some of them do not
even have proper names.  // // The eighth layer has not been started y
of night.  // // December sounds // //
Even I, atheist, find some of them sublime— // // Britten’s Ceremony
e muzakal banality which stings.  // //
Even I, atheist, find some of them sublime, // // Britten’s Ceremony
r out the rest, the aural grime, // //
even I, atheist, find some of them sublime.  // // Must just ignore th
of the fathers are visited on the sons,
even if living in zen.  // // Gloves are a many-splendoured thing.  Gl
a strong and obvious rhyme // // that
even if my audience hear it spoken aloud rather than seeing it on the
Street // // The sea is never still. 
Even in my sleep // // I hear the ground-swell gently break and sift,
ore than that.  Maybe for a day— // //
even more maybe—for a year and a day // // in Norfolk where the sign
s around the edges of the blaze.  // //
Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my face.  // // Twenty three yea
very few // // of which I can discern,
even perhaps // // identify across the years.  A copper beech // //
.  The // // real public benefit’s not
even there.”  // // Sadiq says “The Boris’s vanity project has // //
g sharp cliffs of compacted mud.  // //
Evening .  A great dark cloud // // fire-edged, blots out the setting
t becomes a scene, a group of people in
evening dress, top hats and the like, appropriate to some earlier era
g // // moves north against the fading
evening light.  // // Slanting lines are forming, breaking, forming //
g in Leicestershire; // // red was the
evening sky.  // // By Derby town they settled down // // on purple s
// // through clear and cool and quiet
evening stillness // // on evening tide.  // // Decisions and revisio
l and quiet evening stillness // // on
evening tide.  // // Decisions and revisions and reversions, // // re
a // // cardiovascular // // seismic
event .  // //
something there?  // // Some object or
event which holds her stare?  // // Or is it just the clarity of light
// How many friends have you outlived? 
Eventually // // the Sheffield ties become more tenuous, // // legs
ill finish me completely // // and for
ever .  // //
Tennison’s stream, we know, goes on for
ever , his // // poetry too to posterity speaks; // // Joyce has his
s spray from our tops, // // drives us
ever onward.  // // Where are we going, so fierce and so fast?  // //
l firm surface. // // Where
ever possible fill the kettle through the spout as this will help to r
// // Another day // // to feel your
ever -present absence, still // // to find a way.  // // I hear you sa
mouth like a garage— // // he opens it
ever so wide // // and you can see all the junk inside. // // grey J
Ever // // Tennison’s stream, we know, goes on for ever, his // // p
mouldering slowly, // // will burn for
ever .  The fire once begun // // would last for days and days.  Each
Ever tried // // // // tried to accept // // tried to climb // //
ssing time.  // // For all the real and
everlasting moments, // // there will be time.  // //
, debate // // about it and about, and
evermore // // voices coming from the room next door.  // // For and
loving.  // // Did I love enough? use
every day?  // // Days for seeing you in different ways.  // // Days e
, // // expecting to find it cold, but
every day // // the embers beneath the ash were darkly glowing, askin
ion for this year // // of celebration—
every line // // the Bard created for the stage // // by the best ac
his hair is white all through.) // // ‘
Every mile is two’? no, hardly thus.  // // Some miles are ten, while
l the duffles gone?  // // Anoraks now,
every one.  // //
// The top of the table is sparse, but
every second period or layer, // // like the bard from Japan whose ve
other choice.  You’ll find // // that
every single play is here // // a new production for this year // //
on buoys must needs // // be relocated
every spring, the charts // // redrawn).  // // The line of pebble-du
me, it will hold my weight.’  // // But
every step it drops you down // // into soft snow, up to the tops //
clear and fine and bitter cold.  // //
Every step, // // your foot upon the crust, you think // // ‘This ti
ter storm.  // // The tide is high, and
every wave tries hard // // to breach the wall.  And when it hits jus
writer read, a speaker heard, // // at
every word a choice has made.  // // Those that they choose to use //
ump willing in // // Jump willing into
every word-filled well; // // a book should suck you into its embrace
fferent place.  // // Jump willing into
every word-filled well, // // fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast
e makes haste: // // jump willing into
every word-filled well.  // // That book will hold against your ear a
struct a case: // // jump willing into
every word-filled well.  // // That book will tales of distant countri
ly, without rising from her seat, makes
everyone shuffle up in order to allow Judith to sit down.  They obey h
wire from scratch, // // plumb, strip
everything : // // wallpaper from walls, // // distemper from ceiling
// // Broken?  It must be, if agony’s
evidence .  // // Lying there wondering whether there’s any chance //
a certain toughness, // // hidden, but
evident in the number, // // best expressed Roman fashion:  // // CII
eeping pace) // // —but Sadiq the Most
Evil deposes poor Boris, and // // gets the Red Margaret to look at t
A fairy, good or bad, will know // //
exactly when to show her face, // // the world just so.  // // A wing
to show some of them to her.  Just for
example :  Judith Shea’s sculpture in the Hirschhorn in Washington, clo
dle on the case. // // * following the
example of the chemists and their sort // // ** because the margin i
ut seven feet!  I must admit that seems
exceeding wide, // // as if to start out on a voyage, a full round-Br
// No such obvious culprit here, // //
except for age, pure and simple.  No rage— // // just a sort of passi
d now are one: // // no perfectability
except our own.  // //
d now are one: // // no perfectability
except our own.  // // But Henri’s pieces rattle too and shake // //
d now are one: // // no perfectability
except our own.  // // His senseless trenches death at twenty three //
d now are one: // // no perfectability
except our own.  // // In hard cast bronze all hardness now replaced,
d now are one: // // no perfectability
except our own.  // // In Pompidou relief is on the wall, // // wrest
shed // // with a still?  Local // //
excise officer takes to // // dropping by unannounced.  // // Catch t
yer consists mostly of ones that do not
exist // // but need‡ to be synthesised.  Some of them do not even ha
iate to some earlier era of the house’s
existence .  We left the room unpainted for the best part of the 22 yea
Catheter // // // Objective // // An
exobladder .  // // Strapped to my thigh // // with elastic and velcro
are // // Jacob van Artevelde makes an
expansive gesture // // towards the setting sun.  // // Go west, youn
int, // // it must be insane // // to
expect that a train // // will emerge from the vanishing point.  // /
transforms into // // Yorkshire male,
expecting // // tea on the table when he returns from work // // in
days.  Each morning I came down, // //
expecting to find it cold, but every day // // the embers beneath the
not allow to go answerless.  // // Lone
expedition to conquer the mountaintop.  // // Bottle of water and lunc
// // more travels, journeys, voyages,
expeditions // // more books, more coffee cups // // more tragedies,
t out the fire.  // // You’d think he’d
expire from swallowing fire.  // // He swallowed the fire to burn the
face fa-cai thick soup.  // // XO sauce
explodes to grow the fragile bone.  // // The peasant family stir-frie
wo grandchildren, // // and a world to
explore .  // // But within a few years, both son and daughter // // a
time // // to cross the waters, // //
explore the earth, // // and send signal fires // // blazing into th
te.  // // Skiddaw is looming, inviting
explorers —a // // challenge I cannot allow to go answerless.  // // L
le des Wagons-Lits // // et des Grands
Express Européens pass by.  // // In the end, it was the railway // /
but evident in the number, // // best
expressed Roman fashion:  // // CII.  // // We // // As for us, the b
eir boundaries.  The vital stress // //
expresses change.  Some variant has found // // how good sex is—to mix
Here, // // now, // // in this // //
extended // // coda to our past // // good lives, the rainbow spans
whose verses never would scan, adds an
extra list.  // // As we* reach the sixth and seventh periods, short o
eyond imagination; and of course // //
extracted from my fickle memory— // // elusive and illusive treasure,
raw, // // to questions orderly, while
exuding care.  // // Voices from the curtained bed next door: // // s
ive // // In my groin and in my mind’s
eye :  // // A tube inside a tube inside a tube // // —only the last l
am not cruel, only truthful— // // The
eye of the little god, four cornered.  // // Something there is that d
cross the rest, looking with unfocussed
eyes // // into the distance down the street.  I could not see // //
the bar three people sit // // all six
eyes lowered // // in silent contemplation.  // // The rest of the wo
oks, clouts // // masonry nails, screw-
eyes , picture hooks // // wallplugs, rivets, self-tapping metal screw
smoke billows // // move apart // //
eyes smart // // flames creep // // move apart // // flames leap //
smoke billows // // smoke grows // //
eyes smart // // smoke billows // // move apart // // eyes smart //
to rise // // feeling slow // // rub
eyes // // yawn and stretch // // blue skies // // legs itch // //
ight, // // You may go there with your
eyesight .  // //
t/return // // Can I go there, with my
eyesight ?  // // Yes, with fuel to burn.  // // If the lines be blurre