After England

By | 1 April 2016

My voice carries further, almost
All the way to the face, I go
But not forth, or I went suspended
Itself, touching the all that isn’t.
After England it could not be kept
Together, hasn’t fallen apart,
Moves like noon shadows
Forced out from the corners
Along a street of expectations.

Not really. After England used-to
Has a present tense, materials
Stay both stolen and mine,
Anthology without exclusions
Where I imagined I saw the time
After England before it arrived.
I went out to meet the thing
Behind things, displeased with all
The available combinations

Living after England is
Then isn’t, where laughter opens
Onto the short-lived feeling
You should know how to
Go whole days doing
(You had everything you needed)
But do not, after England,
Have a fucking clue.
The food no longer safe,

Phrases stop short of,
No news is good, good
Things come, all signs point,
Objects may appear, it has
The ring. Possession is 9/10ths
Firing on all. Ignorance is.
My lips are. The grass is
Always. After England
The feel of not to feel

When sky invisibly divides
To let tomorrow in, where it’s better
To work than not to, far
Better to do neither, in fact
That’s your job now, reaching out
To touch a gloved hand to the face
Of the weather we walked off in
After England muttering England
Has never been enough

After itself, this little one
Where a good price is contradiction,
Getting your Albion
On then off then again.
And there are no events
After England, rhythms
Have taken their place, flowering
Trees set out along the shoulder
Pink and white as ideals

Of how England was or will be,
The wrong words in the right
Order, an imaginary language
With real poems in it.
After England, empire moves
West but knowledge just spins,
Narrowly missing it, or not,
In the unsung songs of the dead
I came to late, after

As in so much further
Behind you’re out in front
Where not knowing is.
And you call it experiment,
The experiment of the sea
Pouring into the city, people
Into squares, forms that can’t
Hold so much, weren’t
Designed with this in mind

Like the mind itself, builded
Here from ancient materials
That couldn’t predict the future
Or even rise to meet it
But maintain a right of way.
Left through this hedge across
Two fields of hops and lavender,
Up the slope of the iron-age fort
Till you drown in a view of the sea.

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