Whiskey Shepard

Forbidden to scratch auditoriums, as we do anyway
a swelling kin of geese remake the water’s game
radioiing in quietness, to the later boons of night
all covered in black headed socks above grey lilac hats
stalemate is broken between life and music
fortune of hatred kills its lips with flight
so the day is made strange by nature’s trust
and not the world’s steam inside rain

Before the aliens were here, the trees
us crooked with bliss graves & tulip holes fit for snidey limbs
that said to the street i don’t need June to explain myself
to you, but, come tonight, when we speak to the wind &
our tar is shattered with red tears of perfect and guilty May
we together, shall dishonour, the inequality of all cosmos lies
and pull hard on the burps of the populace
the tipping off ledge, where our limbs touch the rock below

I’ll admit, when we met, we generalised about mediums
you liked your superstition, i loved your body, we agreed on tequila
there is no maximum fear, only maximus days written by fury
an arrow in skin, buzzed and not delayed, felt and not echoed
where the humourus flick of our futures is dimmed by our drive
a mosquito thinks: a lion disapeares: both saying: with element’s mouth
come with me to the end of my exposure, stay with me before
and the singer in the shark, and the colours in memory of sluice

And they should stop mixing the races, i said in my sleep, last week
they should move into the street as i walk through it and parlay in light
near the shaking market stalls that evaporate as i smoke
enough life for life to change around you in bs opinions & beer;
a riot passes my eyes, a piece of coal reminds me of home, you remind me of life
you, drake in my right hand, hen in my left, or, where the f- were we…
and i am convinced that murder is a part of the river
i kill a smoke, look side ways at the approaching snow

Denizen slush by morning, cars colliding with sighs by July
we’ll say in the boat of a cocktail, that water is our pulse
and the furious ways we fight for death are calmer than pretence;
why is it, that we know how to ask for breakfast
but not how to shatter the omen of this morning surgery
we’ve all made pets of chaos and surpass, and none
of the roads in the trees, and the scent of sap that pours if struck
b&w says we can all be born again outside of human colour

Lovers and architectures, cities and animals, permission of the ransom sky
i left even though it was dumb in the eye of safe gambles
and where lightning paints a day of whaling numb in my chest
there are so few masks that my hands turn into fists
then dream where we see, then hunt where we sprint
the masters, slaves, concubines, churches, low strength beers
and signals to the wards west of light
dive and sit down into east’s poached sun & glass

We kick out, love is the last warren of worries, debts are
today i am full with ignited landscape
and an eye full of music, I come back nil from dreams
all those damn stingrays inside body flumps;
in the last one we had we had no bodies
in the next one we saw territorial ideas
no one can teach the landscape terminus
anyone can scream drunk, scream sober, scream thaw

Tell the river of its flaws
and tell our nightly made dogs
that cold is a shield made of delays
the history of our previous night’s grapple with life
i work in a place where butter-curd spelt backwards is
spelled butter-smile
and if you feel violent then so do i ho ho exclaim
and if i have a fall out in my skin, no bones chorousize past 12

Change the painting sirens from kill, to creative fuel
make the dreams understand their scent
slay their lives with nooses made of joy
beg for man to create their own religions
without me having to use: fear, love, fear, love, fear, love
so i let the adverts do it, let the films do it…
i let the molecules pour from evolution’s dream
and the clay in my mouth scratch when I shave.


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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