Alexander Hawkins Poems

Peacocks in sequence
on the dysphoric path

jockey between the mariachi,
...

An explanation, not a justification.

A joke too soon mocking the latest rent-a-grief victim,
unnecessary fiddling with cutlery and then, suddenly, blue air.
...

Work in a bit more reality, they said. Eke out what you can.

Watch a waltz criss-cross across foully fragrant parades
to dodge a payload of puta falling from impertinent parakeets,
...

A problem lurched - even pickled or loxed
pinkly sweet, it was no less perturbing.
That network of the noosphere, now faux-luxed,
alert, had frissoned with falciforming
...

Morning demands different rules.

Life is a mess hidden by the patterns of public transport furnishings,
like confetti vomit or nauseating square spirals
...

Look into the largest largeness
beyond the brutalist choir

booming out stark music,
...

A sequestered Sphinx
is just compacted silica

and yet here sobriety serenades
shaded surroundings.
...

Paralysis skulks from under Scandinavian furniture
into the gutter, spangled with unglamorous colours contradicting
a special Spartan mantra, grimly faded
in whatever decade happened twenty years ago.
...

Put it out there - prospective problem populants
have ditched unexpected pragmatism and are pushing for resolution.
Someone needs to go brave it,
show them their greying nebulus of submerged prospects,
...

Solemn manoeuvring toward anticlimax.
It's closer than they think. Along the way fantastical drama
from outstanding outsiders will, with partisan thudding,
encourage great mayhem, rendering queasy quotation marks
...