Augmentum Terram

I sleep. I wake, a gold furry animal
made of white and black, rubs its face in my side
stretching my mouth with her paws, a crane moves
the city opens and takes its hands from the sun;
a soul in the vitruvian rain smears and gathers,
the rats, and gives them names, of vantage point

The melting voice of nostromo street, chiming
for the ocean to take apart, itself;
the indifference of the machine’s light, the back-stroke
the muscle of the underground humming its long song,
back through its old tongue, a gibberish call
a calack-shack of shuttle, some night

More for the feral to grow, less for the tame to despair,
voles swimming through beer, imagining water;
the type that clears the grass of flock, and sews
the mortal sun back to its clay like hands
and palm, slicing factories of architecture,
cigarette breaks made of no work

And amidst the planet of slaves, the stars drool with humour,
the mist of fruit made from hustling skin,
beginning the past, rubbing coal birds into trees;
the forest made from storm, the open wind
the silence of symmetric geese laughing at my laughter!
and old fox, where we sat, and drank until it was tomorrow once again

I turn and the man with fur looks at me, ahead-
two crystals in a ball of red flame, curled garden
made from the bench, neutering the street’s absence
and the years change the hound into hemisphere
then back to the lion’s child, an acre of rolling moor
that opens the lightening, and glows inside its skin.


is Raoul Moat in a boat. His first words were ‘Newky Brown’. As well as being our most prolific writer, René also creates graphic art, paintings and screenplays.

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