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THREE DAYS   so it’s like, we shouldn’t press our cheeks together like we think / we know because say i saw pen on my sock this morning i looked and finally let some noise pass through lodge / into my ledgers, take heart there & i thought that there was something in the words it slipped down but then all of this   my padded fingers slip on to the handles swing above us we are shifted i mean shifting through the undergrowth & i am   i have fallen over i slipped #~#~# yeah but it’s fucking cheap they’re all so frightened of him and i want some lemon drizzle & the pub & you   HERE east oxford smells like cress now burnt rubber snakes its way up st clements smokes out the morning from my eyes & now the day is rotten limes in the way i speak to you, love   (####take heart, i never hit the right keys))   so the notebook bloomed when my cola leaked & i must wait for it to dry you try to make sense of it, the brown from the red, i mean but i can’t see that you’re right all my thoughts come in full sentences i am trying to pretend they do not three weeks in muck &   three days away from you they have nothing to do with what i mean? but the radio, what men say, #hahaha somebody lives there & kicks the ticker when they should edit, circle me deeper they only know grammar, & even when you are waiting we slip on my surfaces, talk for days about how i should learn to eat again with half a broken jaw & you will be here when i sleep, three days from now   & the days past   & i am always a gutted thing with hands too cold still to work the phone                             POETA EX MACHINA for Veronica Forrest-Thomson   my voice makes the machine work the tape clicks inside but it’s just ether now   if a