M / H / D

Pueblo & other poems


‘empalman el sueño con la realidad, y se ponen de acuerdo para tejer el cuchicheo’ – Marquez, La Hojarasca

…& it is a town without people,

with closed houses in whose rooms

can be heard only the dumb boiling

of words spoken by hearts gone bad,

whispers a sheet of immense silk

made in common by the women of the town.


They join dream with reality,

and agree to weave a whisper.


Y es un pueblo como un tejido de voces mudas.

sacral places (for the union)

traces of which…

– ‘there is a place in England
where all the clocks start’ –
north american explanations

old old england

– ‘there is a place called Devon’ –
(like, who knew?)
we’re not in Peckham now

direct intuition

of the EYES world as
geometry & REMOVED!!!
(god this island people are barbaric)
& our conviction [CAUTION]

to pass from

i know
you’re only
going into Rymans
b/c it smells of school
in there, it’s sick man

“we sell the best and strongest boxes
in the Northern Hemisphere and
they are all made here naturally in Britain!”

what even the fuck’s a hagiocracy?
A government by holy persons:
also a place thus governed

so then bury us here,
where the stones for the cairn
are drawn from the weir:

water bottom, mountain top

this country, though
surface-small, goes
down deeply;
each age a
stratification, each
stratification an
age like this –
so bury us!

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