smoking will kill you.
tattoos are ugly.
religion breeds hate.

something wants
to stay alive, or
to become alive.

rabbits are afraid
of plastic sprinklers
from China.

storms an hour
after dark tomorrow.
ceral shakes in bowl.

wake the drowsy
adolescents from

at least the living
always try to eat.
faith makes hunger.

Map of the Free World


Khaki Switzerland

short rations · delicate jornada
siege · spiralling underlings
march nocturnal · glare
burning fountain · sneap slather
rise · boken concrete
steep the lark · warm slither trace
carl voluble lines · in my last shape

red and green ribbons

red and green ribbons
some bloke buys me a pintand tells me he's god

paul conneally

King Ray keeps Mick

The Dimwitted Child

It all begins with that first intuit; hitherto every other thought is an intuitional thought, an intuit, a thought thinking a thinking thought, a thought thinking thoughts about thinking sum ego summa. Its as simple as that, really. Just now, this very second, I was thinking a thought thinking I was thinking a thought thinking a thought that in the end was really a thoughtless thought thought thinking a thought thinking a thought, Mable von Clout. Now Ms. Mable von Clout thinks thinking thoughts thought about not thinking are puerile, facile at best. In the end, yes the end, thinking thoughts about thinking, ergo sum mus ogre, are thoughts thought thoughtlessly and with little regard for proper rules of grammar and thinking, and as such not worth the bother of thinking, or intuiting, at all. It seems logical, tautological at best, that I am fucked, twice.

- Now a Short Puerile Interlude -

Cupcakes and jiggery piggy-wiggly said the harridan, knees cupped into the folds of her skirt, the sky a monger’s blood-apron, feet plaited into arthritic briar-wood, wood. If only I had a copper to buy a quid of Quaker’s-chew, brown biscuit and a jawful of brown stench, such a sumptuous delicacy. Her great, great grandmamma married a Quaker, a stodgy man with iron gray hair and a palp lip that curled round the chisel of his teeth like a millipede. He sold tinker’s castoffs and snuff and wore burlap trousers with a belt knotted to one side like a tract of intestine. Her great, great grandmamma told her that her great, great granddad like mouton-bird stew with onions and fennel, and wedges of farmer’s cheese ripened in Port barrels that he ate with a wooden spoon and a silver knife. She said that he wouldn’t allow two sliver things to touch, as it was a slight to God, or the sun in through the bedroom window until he’d said his morning prayers. The dimwitted child that she was, she asked her great, great grandmamma if they ate Quaker’s Oats for breakfast, to which her great, great grandmamma replied, sternly, her apron corseted round the wade of her hips, my child, this world is not what it appears to be, so stop asking stupid questions.
A burst of applause

for fond cole

my birth grip slipping
my dalliance jaded

words twist me
I blame soul sometimes

for fond cole
blood songs

my birth crime

sightless visions

A spider in your hemisphere / in your hair / in my fantasy / in my boring eyes / drilled and inhospitable / lick the glory hole residue / accretions / a dry crust / the velvet mood perspires / kicks a vicar in the anus / in recumbrance / in the bell tower of distorted bones / I kiss Her hand / fingers slender / manicured in Death’s hollow sockets / caressed in sightless visions / tips dipped in red mouths of yelping lapdog pussies / autonomous / stroked on Mastermind’s lap / a plan fermenting / zymolytic thought bubbles in the clear atmosphere of a stale brain / an installation / try and ride it / greater inebriations / traps laid in conspiracies / in bullets to the skull viscera / fragments scuttle across baroque lacquered trunk / a primary female puts together the puzzle / fingers immersed in dead hollows / it’s grassy up here / gnarled and murdersome / a Russ Meyer montage / lubrication for escape into wholesome mammaries / away / from wizen titillation / gloved / clasping / holding back strings and pearls / garroted with a cheese wire / Shostakovich playing piano beneath the threat of a petite dictator / moustache in hand / ready to place it upon airbrushed top lip / stiff / upwardly mobile / eating coal out of a shoebox / blackened lips / nubile goth kiss / yum yum says the child toiling in socialist realist fields / fertilized by the promised fetal dead / aborted / an assignation of a liberty clinic doctor / unmet / lonely / last sighting on cctv / entering car / in concrete hieroglyph / bleak rectangles in bleaker city / cunt hair 51 tickles a piss heresy / mummy shit me but now she tell me I come vaginal / a daydream of anal birth / is detox still scraping skull bits off boot to make fitness video / seems so / Mastermind grows bored / shoves a silenced glok up pussies tethered arse / meow / bang / all in one pvc saville suit needs cleaning / viscous matter / licked off / by toothless sharks / gummed towards lonergasm / threat of death / stuffs stroking digits into gills / and frots / rubs / rips wider opportunistic / for the fascism of children / the sentiment of adults / the general joy of aliens / but I fuk wit your gills / I fuk wit your grey armoured flesh / amour / amour / cos I’m doing a performance / broken exhaust fumes / 5th column apologies / a bleakness that knows it own / nailbombs its own streets / abortion babies and reality show ingénue / a general vagueness / a gore of women / but / he / rapes a car in spectacular jump / sticks dick up fume pipe / overheats…

KoKo the Clown’s
leaves the girls
aching. Head
down, oven-topping
and curlicue
on the Clown
circuit. Hair like
loofah on
the Senate floor.


Vitruvian scroll
in its larch turpentine

a paper towel or a purple heart
took eighteen years to get this far

indigo parlous lurch
into wreak & recoil
& incredulity

i reach the third
i reach the third

dip the fidibus
kept at it nothing going but couldn't think what else where else but here so i invented my name common as dirt and thought joke people if they couldn't take a fuck and it has this burnt gone write in 5 seconds flat and see how well you can fuck that up too

9:54 p.m. -- 5/19/08


It will
Be the way
It was.


Dr. Pepper lips
for salad shopping
nothing better than
beaver draft cider
and long hair running
through your fingers
and nails
and teeth

The Great Nietzschean Tightrope Walker

A Portobello blue sky, a blue chattel dress blue sky blue. A sharecropper’s yellow moon; this substantial form; goodness me, so this is what has become of me, corruptibility, incorruptibility, a sharecropper’s oxen scythe taking me off just above the knee. A spoiled milk sky, a creamery of blue-steel, pox-clouds sullying a plainness of sky, whey separated from curd; lactose bigoted. No; a bowery sky, scullery with grime and sludge, a mire of brown-sky, a stain of sky; a debasement. Skeletal trees tonsured with pre-solstice fretting, branches at arms-length, a crapulence of rot and wither. Today I will purchase draperies for my bedroom window. And these nasty polemarks: [and] jammy tarts, the ones great aunt Alma made in the summer kitchen, crimping pastry into taffeta frills, and my great uncle Jim standing on the front porch, his good eye threaded with sweat, waving at tourist’s cars, and my dad eating date squares and rarebits of toast, and me, sitting on the back stoop counting to one hundred backwards, making daisy chains with whistle grass and nettle fens, the afternoon fading into August night.

Please, I abjure you, repress and re-censor this Grammatik infanticide, for he knows not of what he speaks, and, might he/I add, Holden Caulfield was a crummy bastard, I/he much prefer Ackley, the great Nietzschean tightrope walker, imbiber of cocktails and gimlets. Cigarette paper leaves stained nicotine brown, yellow, the advent of death and wither. In decay and perish, such life and advent, an august autumn, the time of fester and blain.

Passengers Arrived

paul conneally

collateral 2

collateral 1 -Luc Fierens