ditch,

the poetry that matters

Dylan Harris

Dylan Harris (dylanharris.org) lives in Paris where he runs corrupt press. His books include antwerp (wurm press, 2009), europe (wurm press, 2008), and the photography / poetry chapbook the smoke (Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2010).

big town blues (xx)

 
come

come
we’ll have the railway laid
the town will be bright
the bunting will slant

came
trekked across the marsh
half–cut forest
bodies of songbirds



low

low broken grey
cart distant horse
green ivy body wheels
horse arch keel

techno cocoon buds
disc diesel scratch shake
again taking me away
toy waterbirds boy aside

techno cocoon phones
high dawdle race speed
tower gare tower gare
architecture i majesties go



common sounds

common play sound say
          we’ve yours
soon say foul say
          we’ve yours

tempted tormented
          we’ve yours
returned retempted
          we’ve yours

common play sound say
          we’ve yours
common stay play stay
          we’ve yours

hear these listen their
          we’ve yours
music mash night crash
          we’ve yours

listen their music
          laugh at you
listen their music
          laugh at you

so i adore so
so the real so
a never met so
lifelong oh



green on green

there was an un among the trees
green on green    green all green
two met bracket glade
green on green    green all green
sun is shone on ever
as when i ’ere farsaw

sham rain sound    coldly down
”if you go that gap i’ll cancel you
they’ve working class window glass”



ugly

ugly
it seems a choice
for movement reduces

hillock bruises
estuary sweat
the cleavage
a consequence of nuclear waste

i could mention the conditions
that leave that face unchoiced

when songbirds are murdered
i find i presume intent



laugh

bombarding dead conversation
mock music laughs at you
slash your taste

sneering egotism dress police
style of blank imitation
slash your face

money money money money
money money money money
money money money money
money money money money

your fault
you chose the wrong parents



saint pancras

empty train alongside
occupied reflections
narrowing

second crowd
stand beyond strangeangled
awaiting a sunlit bus

the world that should be dull
is brighter    sometimes
i want to slide through

depressive face
reflecting smile
rain reflecting life



heading out

“one …”

headmistress voice
difficult taming
contrapuntal child

fuck you for that

so that’s how you think
gobsmacked
humanity

of course i’ve nothing to say
an invitation to love
is no childwhere

where the fuck are you coming from
why are you here
of course i zero

in my place you imply me
no you shall not
i am for beyond the moon

i ciao

“… is …”

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