Three Poems

The Ox Truck Prospectus

The one-step programme: remember, if someone
     collapses you might have miles to drive.

We have not yet learned to speak from inside our
     symptoms. You will be wise not to let the
     vagueness of dreams fool you into mourning
     them less as their smithereens settle and drift.
     Join the club, the curve, the raffle and the
     wound. Everyone we meet fields a different
     adventure far beyond the crossroads of our
     handshake.

Sticky the bee that drowns in mead, restless the new
     century, gobbling history.

A faun has no business in a jam session: it's the
     wrong kind of mischief. The Dorian mode is
     scarcely for now - being mad, and made of
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