You mustn't stop, shark, or you'll die.
Keep searching, and don't think too hard:

I'm looking for words that tell me
a language, a city, even a habit of avoiding

Everything matters.

you'll know when you've muscled through
these shoals, circled what might be
what you're after, discarded a thousand

my gaze or meeting it that informs me
of myself, lets me know where I fit
if I fit

Below the line of despair

wrong choices (a thousand wrong numbers
from the dating agency, a thousand
forgotten caresses of the camera's eye)
know what you want when you find it,

I am not part of the
You can't fool

In the houses by the tracks
they're careless of who sees,
exhibit their lives to anyone
lonely enough to want to share.

if you find it before you fade to black.

What are they looking at?
Why is the policeman doing
those strange

Don't pretend you're interested
in the family at tea, in the one who reads
by the light of a bare bulb,
in the blue flicker of a soap.


There is no colour:
the city is painted shades
of grey, black, and white.

Don't gamble on anyone buying
into your snobbery, your claim
to sneer at the mean furnishings,
the cheap, piled-high lives.

Try to lip-read the words going into
a mobile phone. What language
are they speaking?
Give me a clue.

I hope it's a good likeness:
I spent a
on this dress.

You're watching for the heat of the night:
flesh surprised by the glare,
exhibitionist housewife, or careless
urgent lovers, who are never there. Voyeur.

What a nice boy.




A cyclist in Marseilles was killed
when a driver, attempting to satisfy
the demands of her keyring Tamagochi
lost control of her car.

Not really cheating, but Michael hardly ever
these days. I bet he's had. And
so sweet. He loves it when I stroke his
God! He's got a camera. Wouldn't it

When we located the body and
attempted to drag it to the shore
we were somewhat hampered
by the large crowd of onlookers
many of whom had cameras and
were trying to take photographs.

Something is about to happen
or has happened.
Everyone knows it
or perhaps
everyone thinks
he is the only one
not in the

I am fat and

Enter the internal censor,
cutting me off
from my readers,
shutting my thoughts in a box,
turning the key.

Bowman gives HAL progressive dementia
The sliding of circuits seems almost sexy
Leaves just one song left

Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answ

Too damn right. It's for your own good.

Come see my collection of corgi cars, of butterflies
of pre-electric jazz recordings, of obituaries,
weddings, steam irons, smiles, supermarket carrier bags,
hours, minutes, seconds, snowflakes, videotape glitches.

The breakdown of braincells
The disconnection of circuits
The fading of names
The loss of recognition
The regress
The recession
The single high note of a song,
snapped like a twig from its context

Four men in the gallery window discuss
how inhabitants interact with their city,
with each other, with artists who
come with canvas or camera.

cycling back from the pub
after too many pints
hit a car and blacked out
last he remembered was
trying to push back
the end of the bone sticking out

Eleanor Rigby

Recording an experience changes it.

...the infant learns that she is an individual
distinct and separate from all others...

Heisenberg's uncertainty principle
sets a fundamental limit on the
ultimate precision with which we can
simultaneously know both the position
of an object and its momentum.

Beyond the window, the city's inhabitants
pass on their way to their various interactions.
They see the conversing men, who become
performers on a stage.

is force acting
over a distance. You are
at a distance and there is tension
between us: our conversation is electric.
As a drop of water shrinks, the tension on its
reducing surface releases energy. Below a
certain size the drop vapourises in
the heat of its own contraction.
Our words have become frag-
ments whose size, I
suspect, precludes
their sur-

Inside the gallery, we listen to the men,
look beyond them to the passers-by
who are caught in the performance
they thought they were watching.

The long haired youth runs up the escalator.
The couple walk past a wall covered in graffiti.
The girl holds her mother's skirt, crying.
The grey-bearded man holds the little boy's hand.
The man looks as if he is past caring.

shall I compare thee to a summer's day
sh all eye contrast yourself to one sum mer's light
ss each see con trast your self single measure mere's sight
ss eassh sss hoax trash sure sell ss ingle me sure mere's ss it
ss ssh sss hoe sss tra sh shore s ell ss ing eye shore small ss ss this
ss sh sss show sss tr sh sh ore ss ell ss g see sh ore ss mall ss ss th ss
ssh sss sh ow sss t ss ss ss inch ss ss ss ss all ss ss ss ss
sss sss sh sss ss ss ss in sh ss ss ss ss each ss ss ssss
ssssss ss sss ssss ss sh ss ss ss ss eassh ss ss ssss
ssssss sssss ssss ss ss ssss ssss ssh ssss ssss
sssssssssss ssss ssss ssssssss ssh ssssssss
sssssssssss ssssssss ssssssss ss ssssssss
sssssssssssssssssss ssssssss ssssssssss

the line
down the middle of the road
keeps the peace
is single minded
pure of heart
never falters
knows where
it's going
and why it's
going there

sssssssssssssssss ssssssssssssssss
sssssssssssssssss ssssssssssssssss
sssssssssssssssss ssssssssssssssss
sssssssss ssssssss ssssssssssssssss
sssssssss ssssssss ssss ssssssssssss
ssss sssss ssss ssss ssss sssss sssssss
ssss sss ss ssss ss ss ssss sss ss sssssss
ssss oo fff ss ss ss ss aa ss ss fff ss sss ssss
ss ss on ife ss sh ss ss an sh ss ife ss sss to ss ss
ss ss ong life ss th ss ss and th ss ive ss fff to ss ee
ss song live ss thi ss sand thi ss give ss ife to see
so long lives this and this gives life to thee