Then I saw the terrific red of his cape
as it was flown
in that moment I said
my cover is now truly blown
Then with lightning speed
he took his steed
and rode far away
I was left, my cover bereft
but to die another day
#2
Writing our fears in the wet sand
Angels dressed in armour whip us for
more
so scared we cannot understand
when they spread their wings across
the floor
The chiming clock was knocked on the
head
Time quickened like a falling stone
As I listened to the creaking bed
Each second sounded like breaking bone
#3
The black wings blow
through the window
night breeze kisses our hollow rooms
As the caves under the sea
Fill with ocean sounds
And time, time
is flying like the black crow
against the arc of the white free dove
who explodes in flight
when the bells chime
#4The beige room
curdled in the morning slant
of sunlight, the dragons heart
burns incandescently in the
under water weedy lake
in aging moonlight
#5 corollary man
No-one understands him like
a corollary can
He works in the mine with
other corollary men
solving problems
in terms of logic
#6
Like couples in the shadows
you and I
go under the umbrella of the rose
Together with the crows
we fall and die
Together, together at last
The fresco of silence
blows through the leaves
unhanded the bees
drone on and on
into the night-time combine harvester
churning our last
into the earth
I was standing under the rose
When I heard you say
my name
by any other name I would
have come to you
but it was under the rose
that I could not move
The chiming sunlight on the ringing
hills
the rolling landscape
the speechless views
I came and caught you
From under the rose
In a time of plenty
with the desert muse
In the land of heart ache
In the sky of crows
where summertime blossomed
under the rose
In a land of plenty
In the call of crows
when the pastures grew
under the rose
And tracks like snakes
leave us now
to where we wander
You and I with only its shadow
passing us by
under the sky
under the sky
the sky of the rose
#7
The ship in the bottle
The whisky has run dry
The stories and broken memories
have been thrown down
with the bones
the aching heart is broken too
It lies there with the stones
but high above
on ocean waves
Rolls the bobbing boat
I can pull it up
I know I can with my magic string
it joins me to the wonderworld
and the stormy ocean in
In the bottle
In the bottle
#8
Being a Daly person
down on the docks of Bombay
The clocks are melting on my wrist
The sky is bending like a closing fist
The first time I saw heaven
It was broke on the bridge
The second time it was hot as hell
All saints and angels dripping blood
into the wishing well
Fires flicked flames around swans
#9
I want to hold you
I want to hold your visions
I want to hold your stepping stones
As you dance across divisions
In the lime light of the salty day
I want to hold you
I want to make you stay
There cups and saucers falling
like broken winged birds
they're dismantling the sky
and their visions are
held in the palm of your hand
#10
The gadfly ignites his last
cigar of the hour
great pheasants dance to
the tune of a lepper
and Joseph pulls back his bedcover
to reveal a mask to discover
the strange places his love
for his lover
will drag the horse from a rubber
that wipes out the history of his
mother
though not of his brother
In sinks and hat stands
Wine is passed round with a flower
The blind prophet takes bets
with the steel headed shower
as fine metal sheeting slips between
the
known and the knower
For questions of philosophic truth of
another
down drain pipes the sharks can devour
the locked minute within an hour
#11
Oh sweet apostrophy's moon
come back to me oh so soon
Recline on the surface of a spoon
and think of june
The cards on the table are shuffled
The mirror pikes voice has been
muffled
in shipping yard quartz
are discoveffled
in the business man's shirt now
ruffled
We come back and haunt
down the loom
of telling yarns now festooned
a shape easy to see it's like a baboon
Though beauty is missed
(and your heart being kissed)
is left in the trees
by the binoculars of twitchers ees
The common moth has evolved
into a thing which his desire beholds
As docks mark the clocks
on the card when he folds
through living creatures he scolds
As I look out past the veneer
my mottled bird he is clear
the chastised spirit stays near
when the lungs begin to expire
