Category: free verse

little Lee H O

Lee Harvey O smelling of cordite

Lee Harvey O reading dense Marxist tracts 

discharged Lee Harvey O cold in the Great Soviet Union

Lee Harvey O in Mexico
Lee Harvey O in Cuba

Lee Harvey O in two places at once

communist Lee

wife beater Lee

– a loose thread on the jumper of history – 

Lee Harvey O pictured in 1993 in a Nirvana tshirt in New Orleans –

– little Lee O 

masquerading reality with parts falsified 

 O’ Little Lee falling down a wormhole 


con artist 

a con artist in the big house

   the tiniest hands the easiest of crimes 

  a stolen nation

stored rock by rock in safety deposit boxes 

above him

out of his league
toss him through the window

leave him at the side of the road 
into a pile of plug in girlfriends

discarded as hard to clean for  

fear of damaging conduits and coils 
that hiss 

and fizz and the sound of a can of Coke opening is the sound of Satan leaving your soul 
said the priest 
the church of Coke: 

artistic glass bottles of the 1950s 

shaped like woman you wanted to fuck 

gravity unseen 

you said that these things were happening as a test
a test
a test maybe from a higher being 

some omnipotent force 

unseen like feelings or 

gusts of wind 
maybe it’s all pot luck 

she said a patternless mess 

of arbitrary

whatever it was

it froze you like a


downloading Back to the Future



French kissing your mum in purple pants and pretending it wasn’t you   
I asked her what she was thinking 

– she slammed the doors

– smashed the windows

– stole a car

– burned the house down

 -fled town
– two weeks later

anonymous phones calls where I can hear a fountain /waterfall / seasonal rains / hotel shower / pissing

– whispered words 

– a well fingered photograph of

teenage confusion: 

I knew I liked woman 

and spent years thinking I must be a lesbian – 

— erasing paragraphs from the bible like a child screaming with his fingers in his ears —

if it’s removed it never happened

—all those people in the cemetery never existed

vertical burials in the wasteland  



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automatic writing

the man prowled the office corridors
with a phone stuck to his head
he talked about deliverables,
differentials, divergence

he said he was agile

his spreadsheets were ready
armed formulas
ready to fire

his face was a white cinema screen
a bed sheet stretched
a bed sheet with a dead prisoner
hanging from the end

he stalked corridors
with a phone

a man of religion said God had sent
the hurricane to scare the masturbators
and the gays

he remembered leaving the house and his parents standing there like
two unexploded hand grenandes

reality changed when the tanks rolled in

his fist kiss
clashing teeth and the taste of mint