True things are real | but untrue things are real, too | and we can live by them

Paranoia in the office | the little putsch and coup | the wristwatch waiting with its tiny increments | putting the tick to the tock and the possible cancer | Ginkgo leaves in November | Damp in the flat, mould on the walls | the route through to the comic book hero | cut off | a smell of too much roses in my migraine | Thinking we’re right right to the end | wrapped in the bubble of the era’s thoughts | she says Christ, you’re not even human! | how could she be so wrong, make | such hurtful errors? | Using both thumbs, press out his eyes | tell the blind about the cliffs and the sea-green sea | the gulls with their bags of guts | the thief with her bag of jewels | and Judas in a gilded bible | and Einstein eating bagels | I can’t help it if I’m | low sometimes | why can’t you | see things from my side? | Flip off the head | open up the workings | each instant with its matrix | of perfect treachery | choose | this direction | support | that leader | take the wrong path it will still | lead somewhere and | somewhere is better than | nowhere, right? | I never listen to a word she says | she says | In the gallery | a Madonna with a still-born child | a carefully curated | road to the future | It’s time to change | Ordinary in the leavings, the promises


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