2

now my estranged
barber

may spot a bald patch soon
blooming in motion

mine is pretty small
in the morning

recentralising
‘angels’

no I never saw one
without the inverted commas

which is all she’s wearing
her mouth open

3

I creep towards her
ripple

for the rest of the evening
jack it

cradle your jaw
but no less staggering

for its emptiness
delete

in a handkerchief
between the wars

black
with perfect sense

4

a broken wave
no monetary value

thus the rite
whose colour we crave

have you noticed
the smell

behind eyelids
coming down

each face
printed for purchase

numberless
exile

5

as a child I could
with a few sticks

or matches
make part of a face

whatever I wanted
to name without words

nothing resists
on the surface

when I touch
these angels with wings

of paper to cut
or burn

6

images that shrink
or detonate

we are not made in one piece
the machine turns

in emptiness
the way we went down

nor is it important
how we begin to dance

and fragment
in a grainy photo

easy to miss
at first glance

7

dig into sky
to find a heart

people who press
against us with their wings

in a moment
of infinite suggestion

yet I am
of your country

where drops of blood
fall on pavements

indelible
and absolute