Embedded Files
Purgatory for Angels
for J.G.
I woke up and the earth was still there.
by the tollhouse, robinslang
out the half-shut mouth
of a little kid, that doesn’t make sense to me, click-a-clay
leathered in kerosene. all these unfinished pieces.
they crashlanded in a plane with their dad.
the poem says to be counterintuitive, the dinted willows show
(wile-willows)
millworker who abandoned the mill.
how the atoms
wend, partly, hyperhale to you
sprawl to a keystep, over on my head, trainers
like two questions to the abyssal
troposphere
cos every day it accrues, the
cash pressurelure, to make pigs out of pennedness
ourselves in drill-delving
a set of explosions christened dominations
I didn’t fancy summarising whatever some rep
thinks our ‘problems’ should be
that’s just journalism, its social work
one day the shaving mirror’s got to be kicked in.
doublerainbow
description, critique even
don’t always scoot us away from the teachout
shits clear and no garlanding. else dug, king
saves a god, blanks me, streams
diversionary
winsome bubble, metamorphic beat
and in the same second ticked clarity bombs…
body armour, cams, faultline walk
I’m not trying to cope or
console. I won’t care about the handsome.
now ‘saviourism is kerb-ditching’
now ‘the angle of inclination of his creatureliness’
english is horrible. but we can raze
heads w/ it, contort it using inlet farrago
jink on jink
contested air. tapehiss. your moves
respire in spiral fastness
teaching as a way to tread & wander
as a way to learn (sheerly) like a dead lang rings for you
so screw duty.
it’s the pourboire
shatters
gunmetal crossing, TV telos, leave
triumph to the conquerors.
am no miner, I piss about in frosty grass
cold quarry lakes
indivisibly, off-root
that dizziness sends me
windchime back to others
it’s the impasse hurls us
but we vamp
Misrule
‘Well how can that be fair at all’
TALK TALK
Circling the square it flick spoke like struck me
you forge your own chatter
for gridiron surround soundings
That’s our corn language
omadawn yap yaffle, it’s where
we feel brought, temp Stoke Newington sunspot
Commodious scowl dusk squeaks
in the deem drift
consuming scales of murder
where formula airs end w a gasp thorn northed
in the footer, time to get off the internet you lot
Time was when stoked October
together piss wet that mad cow
sin in the vale freak’d
tongue-and-eye trance like the only
cosmic vision of a long past
oral tradition worth haggling with
hey presto
so Avril bee
combs May Day
The rolling fields grow dark as the grave
Prefer this shadiness
yen to steep across decoration
winged stylus you indicated crated
behind winding copse
destroy the herder
flame handle
when I was sunk in soddening prosody
or down yon dowie den
In those heaven eras out of the flat took starrish nerve
whacked from hollow sociality in
fantasy of the rightminded
bought wings got me back
Seek to do it all now weir ways
necker guide
dissolve us in usurpation fleshes, ouroboros
patience leads on to dandelion doolally
glanceturned into a sandstone pillar
Will singe whiteheads, singe the
rich crowd, ruthless unit seraphim
first hint of psychic
distress to be ditched, mockingbirdily
for the next rung A flower juts onto
I take no ownership of just methods is mask posy
undoing a talk as we grove go
trio bluethroats unhanged in Angleterre
innards doused to wreck & dust
and necropolis on ahead.
That the missiles fall nonspecifically
the slaughterhouse bil. songs most at home in
paveway to stormshadow
to blessèd professional-
ised iris ay gloats madcapstone
needs taunting
amassing for institutional status
Lam that noise us into the gutter loit
how not to shore up the catarrh, this
vent sanction
chimes hovelly Tom Mann
countersinging from
his bare anthill, link lost, doled through doldrumfire
Screen bills are great mimics
have their xeriscape
in the well-copped ozone shield
I thanked everybody. I always made
an awful bowsprit, regiments of
slicks delude them, deludding I am
upup over the heath shear sailing
The century is after us. It might be
you don’t ever find the love you crave in the exterior world
subsecrecy & last impressions
poem builds it out for dipped night naysaying
The life of one of us alone can’t claim that
reverence dignified drey vantage
Yeah, youll finish the espresso
yeah art’s a setup
but antelistening trills transformation
in the depths of forest
mumbling among ‘entities’
Who was I speaking at? Or to, even
Fen-feared
the foals of Agincourt. Moi. We solitary
route. Continuing chestnut
to daub & drool was touched
by presentmindedness
chronicle after the mushroom bothy
or wreak in tongues
slash send a postcard
Now a world from our sponsors, your name for poison
gift presses for profit
flayed like a satyr
in the blanched corrie
Prussian blue sky thought
Starbank Park attracted via
giving music back to bloodletters
careering for fame
while bird lips streak stark news
The click upturns
in top-down swipe architecture. Got it.
Machine learning sly out-
sourced to ghosts
another term for live
I eat my offal
composition on stolen time
vied offlane
Cry servants who won’t transcend themselves
are setting awkward fires
escape in fabrication
which is the same utensil as staying here holding your mum’s head
Paradise—columbarium—city—wilderground.
The street whips into its promise
and I don’t only sketch, record it, exhibit
my ragged symptoms, but play a twin-wren part in the phenomena
no less or more reefed, measuring my
splitness in how we steal away &
hide or cradle our own impasse
when it stings like fuck stimrhythm for the unloved
And soil latterly
am I surviving a tortured lie
carbon clouds
sissonne in that unglamorousness
old dependency, knead-high skip
as the functions start to fail
but it isnt inevitable yet
and I don’t have to do that ach for my twitch couriers
Spoon ran back with the dish
killing competition in its fused heart
black hole flock
cos rhyme’s a cloak to wash ensign bitters
mountainous devildoubt
Will the aside float down
on the ley, this country’s too sucked for us
Cold, massacred horizon
A poet’s technique
is glacé-voiding
sea ice note
in commonplaces chirrup hunger
I love Hyatt for writing no
on the evenings I perceive it
A wicker cot missed by lightning
full of shit.
The angel’s role in enchainment
empyreal Pyrenees burnt capped hearse
heard empires collapse
like jambs to the laughter
Amazon warehouse raked in dead light.
Which lingua franca I’m voicing now. Vague wand
at the terminal moraine of Investopedia
riotfeeder blackberry stains on a tomb
get fucking yeeted beyond solace in the reprisals.
I only twinge for myself but am severe veering
for the turnkey
w what the abyss speaks
a fleck desecration over true melos
quiver among oblong
constructions & the buds’ brownfield.
At the antisolar point.
And hey, kingdom delight
is sea-surrendered since
gone Naples
12hour monologue about your property
I wish it underwater
jack in the summit toll harlequin
The future’s risoed & pairs well with our tartare
Snare. Shack fit. Tilt
zero consolation. No harmony of the provinces.
Swan life is ecstatic.
Just the spectral
shattertruth of my attacked corpsing, wage reptilian sky
tinctures the insane boomerang
I embrace to the remnant
like a partner in time
God bless thy lungs, goodnight
Dom Hale's work has appeared recently in Lana Turner, Protean, and Happy Birthday?, and his latest pamphlet of poetry is called Seizures (Gong Farm, 2022). He helps to edit the press Just Not and the magazine Ludd Gang, and co-organises a hardship fund for poets at www.poetshardshipfunduk.com
Copyright © 2023 by Dom Hale, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author
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