Larry couldn’t get high | Cut-up ships stowed in rooms | tarpaulins and buoys | stuck to the ceiling | a formalised wrack | forty years of sand | in stoppered bottles | and from a silver thermos | an acrid scent of brine | memories of beginning | of a watery love | in a white enamel bath | tiny purple starfish | pink diluted blood | a mound of scales | too much to fit in or to | take with us | so we throw it away | Everywhere an overboard | and the storms | tame, following us like pug dogs | In the eyes | compass needles | And the mouth has fragments of coral

Kidnapped! | Torch under the covers | A Barrett house | breathes | in and out | slowly | oxygen from a newborn typhoon | Splinters of shattered masts! | Crescendos of waves | the shock and smash and grab | chopping loose rope with crescent-headed axes | stoven barrels with a slew of limes | great upsurge! | Sleep and school | Street prices rising very fast | and his taste had changed | he found it surreal he had ever | admired Rimbaud | The ticcy-tac of their uncut claws | on the concrete | as they trot | Apricot fawn or silver fawn or black | clean fast strokes across the placid bay | the odour of pitch and fresh-sawn pine | At DECOR gallery, until the end of October

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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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