notations outside the british national gallery

a giant blue chicken in the grey

atop the pillar of pillory

as if nelson wasn’t enough

the first stop

a full day limned in flowers

people washing the stoop

and whatever else it is

we find ourselves doing in the morning


it started with an ill omen:

the coffee machine

so outdated

it may as well have been in another language

broken, so someone had to come along

to help me empty the old water

and thus assist

in rolling the stone uphill

an inch more than before


london summers

very much like other summers

always deceptive

containing multitudes

for instance:

there was a man in a suit

asleep in st. james’

and one has to wonder what got him there

and where he’s going to go

and what he’s going to do if it rains


the man in the suit asleep in st james’

had nothing important happening in particular

birds fusing together at the lunch hour

clusters of cells under the bridge

soft sloping lines of the buildings

dripping together in the water

he had already decided

but hadn’t admitted yet

to heading home upon waking

seeing as the day

had been pared into a dream


in the galleries across the square

there was a room

press a button

spin catherine on the wheel

pull the teeth of apollonia

have jerome beat himself

in the groin with a stone

the prematurely buried catholic

delights in the iconoclasm


could we really do this

bring saints to suffering

bring our hands to god

perhaps it is the light that has passed us

and we are in the night now

dreaming in the park

unaware of rain

pulling at statues

kicking at what remains

descending into sleep

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