we give each other tummy aches and

hot tea
       r
         s
          s
         s
for the sake of --
god, from the kitchen I hear you
laughing on the phone
and when you 
come to me embrace and
slightly whimper, there is a hand
that holds your throat

the ghost stealing your breath
is the bog that swells my flesh
is the mesh around her dream
of death, is the brick
we do not name

SHIFT Manifest

1. meaning is shifty water under the caskets of dictionaries. meaning is territory to be explored; its structures and borders are flexible; they may be bought, owned, shared, gifted, fought over, colonised, won, lost, mourned, loved.

2. text is a habitat; a geography to be activated by the reader who will not be led via the carrot of suspense.

3. poetry is the supreme act of communication. the novel is a branch of poetry.

4. we defy the will of market.

5. we call for other artforms to be the lovers of our page.

6. writing is a political act.

7. translation is a junket to other worlds.

8. who does language belong to? who does the poem belong to? how does one move the lawn?

9. we are collectors and treasure hunters. we explore margins, gathering refuse and scraps. we are impoverished pirates, exiled, a cohort of strugglers. we search for the disappeared. we navigate by stars during daylight hours.

The hollow in her mouth moves its blackness autonomously

she knows the rest of her
can be nothing but a flute to its sigh
an echo to its rim
a tunnel to its thrust.

The hollow in her mouth dilates into a Ray
flattens to a She
oblongates into an O

everyone before her here we are a shoe
triumphantly lain flat, a puppet, a kite, a dog

there are no teeth, the teeth are not to be seen
the tongue too shies into

the blackness of her mouth

is more

willful

than herself

it would be possible to grasp by the corners
and gently peel it off her face
nothing in her semblance would change
if we candle-lit her throat

she submits
and submits
us to the shadow in her mouth
the hollow in her mouth is nothing but a dog
unleashed unspelled untrained

the hollow in her mouth transfix-
es the space between the occupiers, the blackness
in her mouth is independent from the words
lazarously numb, vicariously done, aphonic in our lull

a proper phantom, a tail coat
rigid on its hanger
there is no gasp, no cry, no hum

the hollow in her mouth
is the threshold, or—
not the portal but the beginning
of all that is
beyond the borders of her mouth

nothing stands behind its flatness.

Elementary Food and Hygiene Course

Today I learned the temperature of the danger zone
and I helped a friend without a pat on the shoulder
and I tolerated a pinching ache in my back
carrying a barren, cramped armshoulderhand
and bleeding from unchildness.

I discovered I have repeated Michael's experience
in coming to the UK from Mexico in my twenties
and writing poems in the third person plural
about Britain's doors of glass and freeze
about the fire doors and vent systems
designed to prevent fires from spreading
to prevent ideas and bacteria from multiplying
with warmth and moisture and food and time.
I learned the weight of a suit
the shape of her cheekbones
the names of three different pathogens
and law regulations regarding food
poisoning: what is adequate in a kitchen
is to not be seen or known outside it
because we as human beings have the fundamental right to experience food
in its absolute best condition
and everything else should be safely chucked out.

Today I learned the biblical teachings about hygiene
remain valid until our day
except now we have chuck-out dates
and digital thermometers to calculate the risk at the core.
Her name was Jean Payne and she delivered
a painful hygiene course using learning techniques
such as silly clipart dinosaurs representing germs
bluetacked to the flipchart.

Today I discovered a new route back to my house
and it was as if I had moved
to a completely different city.
From now on, depending on my mood,
I can decide whether I live in the Swanky West End
or in the Non-Educated-Delinquents* and Immigrants Maryhill
and walk back home accordingly
carrying my swanky, non-educated, immigrant
head full of mist and shadows.

*The term supports the Socratic idea about human malignity having its roots in nothing but ignorance.

Today I went into Lidl, because I thought perhaps
it would feel nice and Thirdworldy.
And I watched the prison-faced buying frozen pizzas for a pound
and I watched the turban-headed buying mars bars by the pound
and I watched the dog walkers buying fags and sunflower seeds
and I watched the ugly beauties buying beauty products
and I watched the destitute checking out children's boots and portable shelves
and I watched myself buying broccoli for a quarter of what it costs at the nice fruit&veg
glad about the save but worrying about pesticides and fairtrade
and transporting goods from the cheap, remote ends of the planet
consuming energy and scraping
the ozone with dimness
unsure if this should be my method
or should I always buy organic, or local, or cooperative, or at least nice
or better still: not buy at all and go rescuing food from skips
but I don't have the energy to struggle
or the friends to have fun
even though I would, and I do.

I need a method
so I can comfortably avoid deciding over and over
among all these very difficult choices.

Today my employer paid for me to be trained
in standards and methods so ridiculous
they have filled the nation with allergies.
I passed the test with all the correct answers to the not properly pronounced questions
just as I so enjoyed my perfect maths and grammar at school
and I was filled with the arrogance
of the over-educated, over-qualified, not-fit-for-minimum-wage-jobs
self I have unknowingly, circumstantially become.

Today I was told I can be held personally responsible;
put in jail for the mistakes of my institutions.
Makes sense in a world like this,
where He Who Serves the Drink is as guilty as the person drinking up
where He Who Writes the Word is as guilty as the person picking up and reading, and reacting, and changing.