Two horizons

The do what you want moon winks at those who defy the sea
ill no more from the tribalality of blood, the earth, and the meat of the sphinx
the flooding, amputating, normalcy, of lobotomies in the rain, and growing limbs
floating in each breath

Take down the lying divide between pulse and style
your clay for my fire, this train is older than its tracks
and the rain becoming 7am, understands my hangover, and turns
dogs into sleeping harps, but also, London into its own tattoos

I tell myself this as I work, and make sure that when I am sober, lost &
staring at the window drunk, that I steal, pillage, & create, worlds indifferent
to the wombs of laziness that occur, where humans curl into gas
trying to fear, like normal, but all I feel is life

Say calm to whatever cold poison we lose on fire
a lake to say any wind which isn’t us gathering… Heels, illusions of a shirt
and a plumeing giraffe, and a serpent made from equal ice, just grows;
as do the animals, we grow together insane

To the rollo king, the rollo queen, and the blasphemes of gravity
drain what I forget, but remember how to dance, as the drug leaves our guts
enters our soul, and amphitheatres shine out, and bow legged laws
cripple down into twigs & kindle for mesonet fuels

I choke an old friend and call her a mink, feed all crows
a Werner Herzog re-run, down at the local smoke sewers of a cinema
as lovers of the ugly, choose chaos & rebuttal
as I put some really shit songs on the juke-box, later

Glassy steeds tumble like waterfalls down, showers of morning
become capes made of silence
we try each others clothes, smiles, memories unforgotten by the street
as the lucid dance that allows all humans to be all animals, is our only name

The roar from lizards made as toes, that rise from the sun
the uncensored dreams of one body made of attack
shall grip, have gripped, and always grip
knives fulfil the loss of all time at work

More war with the bull-shit apocalypse, surely;
yet all that I can muster when defeated by paying my rent
is how your scent, form, and body, make it all worth it
and shatter my bitterness like a smile at the door

And I try to be stern, as is my nature, down the stairs
tumbling heavy man down a thump thump
but I know that your grace is always lighter

We ask which animals of each moment hold which devil, lick…
and find ways of turning angels into silhouettes, by the non knowable
skips of steps, slight smiles, and convo dusk, in our departing pain;
while we make instruments from day, and music from night

My suit jacket slides death along my shoulders, or feels good
your skirt moves up your legs breaking the morning, time for time…
and the city cooks a wild one, but we cook wilder
since the ingredients are whispered only by us

Hulla-ballo to the street!
dose us with femurs from the sky’s wet malarkey, huddle and burp!
a changing song, rolling backs take photos of skin, rolling time departs;
only darkness needs a name-

My office is made by devouring peace, it makes me want to
devour summer, devour you, devour my clients, devour the pulse;
but you lead me away from that winter, until our energy
is each other

I threaten to give you a hair cut like mine
but your hair is longer than my jokes
i work, because eventually, the strange street always, becomes you
and then, as the populace grows with white eyes each day, ours still, can see.


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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