Andrew uses his twitter feed to publish a short text every six days or so. Here’s a small selection:
107
Immured in silent flesh, the great bull
eyes the sparrow
he cannot be.
158
The argument we have started
the wind will soon settle
in grand joust
221
I thought that time led upwards
but no – it unspools
in the dark copses
241
Just a scratch, yet there you are,
years later, still dabbing
the exudate –
256
Dusk songfall: serving birds
peel silver apples
in the wood’s dark cellar
338
To stand up, then for
— not out, over or down —
is all the world asks
366
We will be lonely
when we’ve sucked the marrow
from the last giraffe bone
379
The city’s trashy, pimpled rump
upended: an eyeful
for the stars
399
The tench thought the heron
an arrival of cloud
a twig in the air
403
Light welled under the door, tore
at curtains, splintered sleep:
summer’s besieging rage
433
Now we are the spinning drunk
in the iron cloak, falling
through the ice
481
The wind is going, the river
too: this way
to the end of time
500
Twice daily stood
the rock against the tide
and every time diminished
516
It was the crow
looked from the bare branch at the sea —
it was my sorrow
522
A tit collects
old cobwebs, for a nest: just one
faultless gesture
598
Erotic trance: the slide
from generative madness
to contented squalor
687
Perfume narrates
but the skin beneath
owns the story
>695
The little life lived brightly –
not the worse – nor yet
the lesser
760
Must we be – or would
all that is be better
if we were not? Well, God?