Three Poems

The Long Regime

A small bird

Outside my office

Window turns itself

Inside out over

And over again

The sky the

Colour of the

Inside of a

Large jar quavers

As some large

Hand perhaps grips

And twists the

Planet though I

Don’t believe in

God it’s more

Likely just capitalism

And the travails

Of small indistinct

Birds living under

Its long regime

Into the Frame

Seems like

Furor

Off the temps

Inside of us or

Against half of us

Gun petal archery

No longer to arch

But to practice

What representation is

Is a winter of

Spent enclosures

Unspecified seams

A firth or

Gorge broken

Open I give it

Spatial egress

To walk into

There’s all of us

Now grow

No File

I cannot

Forthwith

The mechanism

Some clouds

New wind

All the change

We’d enable

Comes out

Carnage too

Often abrupt

Like shellshock

The hope of

No hope

In a file

Called “no file”

We cannot open

Or close