| 14x21 cm, 20 pages, 250 gsm
blue card cover with colour illustration, black endpapers, hand sewn with
ISBN 1 903090 37 7
See below for biographical notes and extract.
MONKSNAILSONGS - for Gael Turnbull by moonlight in rain comes monsieur l'esc- argot to wander in drains : his cult is his cargo, his pondering foot brains : how far can he go? * Toot toot the smoke from a boat or train’s puffing ballet rough sketched on scrap paper, the trick to think slow, go slower up the scale like Monk’s fingers on a lick * DISCOVERING GARDEN AT NIGHT – TOOT WHERE E’ER YOU GLIDE – TOOT ON STEMS OF LONG WET GRASS – TOOT EXTENDING SHINY HORNS – TOOT YOU’LL NEVER SLIDE ALONE – TOOT IF YOUR FINGERS WALK THE KEYS BY NIGHT – TOOT IF YOU THINK WITH YOUR LONELY FOOT FIRST – TOOT * Some kind of cliff crumbling off stage left alone midst stars made bone dust structures once again-- DNA-stuff, stuff to hack a track for the four horses of the winds’ tossed paths. Peace be in your pavilions nomad soul, & in the whorl & plethora of your shells * Found nowt in darkness, path black & white, black & white, dutch interior of keys. Planning each step of journey won’t do it. Taking High Moral Tone won’t do it. Buttoning up your full metal jacket won’t do it. Waltzing toot sweet with everything under stars under your fragile packed home might do it. *