childofwood.blogspot.com
The Little Wooden Boy: The Arts Centre Yesterday
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Tuesday, 9 December 2014. The Arts Centre Yesterday. Baby girl pushes the chair. Across the floor till daddy. Sits his old fed weight there. He lifts her up and she says,. She has her saw. Tooth squealy demand and. He has big fuck off hands. The air's all of a class here:. Man on news says,. I will leave skin flakes on. The table top. Squash crumbs. Coffee cheerless like cheap fags. My face is on fire never being. One of them really.
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The Little Wooden Boy: December 2014
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 22 December 2014. Back fence second coming clock growls low. Offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips. I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end. There was always too much sky. Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears. Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak. Hands dripping with autoimmunity. The skin hospital’s lamps. Dead cygnet bones somewhere. And the nest open mouthed. Boy run off by swan in bestial glory.
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The Little Wooden Boy: October 2014
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Sunday, 26 October 2014. The Christians are a few yards ahead. Green track. Lit through curled ferns. Heather's scent of everything,. Of God entropy. Caer Caradoc: trace of dead claims;. Eretz Cymru. Yesterday he sang, Take me back to. The Black Hills,. In wavering falsetto. Inhuman folds. From before anybody said anything. Empty beech nut. Shell: dead genital mouth. Low weave of branches. Broken shortbread mushrooms. Shat-upon. And go back in.
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The Little Wooden Boy: July 2014
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Sunday, 27 July 2014. Lace lifts up at the window. So the swifts' skinny song. Blood crust colour brickwork. In the relaxation suite. And the bubble tube turns red. Woman in death'shead shirt. Will not turn around. As he drinks up. Chaotic singing throng;. Turn the dark cloud inside out. Quake, all proper persons, quake! A dripping radio says. In miserly rain where some lips. Of Morall counsels, I to bedlam give. Sunday, 20 July 2014. Pins and ...
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The Little Wooden Boy: May 2014
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Saturday, 31 May 2014. We eat ozone flavoured air. Clover's afraid of open mouths. Nobody they're in love. Hear the cuckoo cuckoo:. Primary school woodwind displacement song. Train past Southease Station. Is the wrong line of commentary. Blue green bridge with blue. Green boxes and crosses pretending. River empties somewhere near. I've got my resentment. On in acid colours. It's a day out. Saturday, 24 May 2014. Mad girl reads lesson. Burning b...
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The Little Wooden Boy: Games
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Sunday, 14 December 2014. Dense ropes from the ceiling are evil. There are teacher monsters. In thick alien cotton. Pervert hair curls. Mouth in a beard. Our thin flammable shirts. English mud sticks fast. Hidden hollow. Of the goals where my boy heart echoes. Give nothing. Let Caesar's tight old bladder. Past the post. Sisyphean medicine ball. Shin kicks and bastard jabs. Walls. Are chromatic ills are rock. Porno slits. TO BEGIN WITH, A Red Sh...
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The Little Wooden Boy: Alma Mater
http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014/11/alma-mater.html
The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 10 November 2014. The salt bath: residue. A tasty pain reminders buzzing. Sick with familial myth. That face all over: a jumpered boy. A dole fed schmuck a married man. Dark room steadily closing. What to make of this. Now creased monkey mask. In the mirror with. Curious (read frightened) eyes. Would you let everything go. Getting the words wrong). 10 November 2014 at 19:48. Stunning beauty out of grimace. 11 November 2014 at 05:36.
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The Little Wooden Boy: November 2014
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 24 November 2014. Old paper shade with round mouth two human slits. Is a person says. Split wood heart creaks. The phone is a body part. Scratching the head as if I could get in. To be of each. The wheel an urge caked with real decay paste. You came off at the curb. No trumps no loose limbed truths only. The leaf rot that downs you. University clock chimes a xerox chime. Will I always be a human snail? Monday, 17 November 2014. And OH t...
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The Little Wooden Boy: August 2014
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The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Sunday, 31 August 2014. Are these leaves with black fungal kisses. Living things or parts of living things or gathered up? Sulfur stench at tunnel mouth. Impossible grass at the feet. Barge Horse Way cuts through estate. On some holy bicycle. I can see the outside of the rain. Willesden Green and Finsbury. Are melting among the green meadows. Now the flabby clouds shift at film speed. Bruise on the knee is lovely and petals. Show up the hollow.
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The Little Wooden Boy: September 2014
http://childofwood.blogspot.com/2014_09_01_archive.html
The Little Wooden Boy. Doing things with words and pictures. Monday, 29 September 2014. With crashed seducer eyes. Then a daub wrinkles. Mote and Beam Grid tilts. Woods are made not to exist. Rose wash veils run over. Petals open hic et nunc. Fur and feather echos. Brim splits and fails. A matted hand says yes (only just) and flexes. Saturday, 20 September 2014. It is a person. On the wipe clean chair. Woolen monkey with plastic face and. Unfeels for the floor. From my sweating head:. Until it's not and.
