this zone

Axis, what axis, O Achilles don’t ask about my ankle
Breasted with sweat is likely in the forecast, on the boil
Cherry blossom was on my mind, not the new carpet squares in the lift
Digital noise, waves at temples, the cords, the drumming
Envelopes calling my name, and this egg on the face of a new version
Flex, files, there is nothing fancy grown here
Grant or grovel, the telephone juggles the calls
Hovercraft or the soul buzzing just above, a handbook tells no story
Irritants more than spring's imp, flying into my eyes
Jars in the bones, on the shelf, don’t jump
Kitchen action, a spider clumped on the switch, kooky all day
Legal action, legislative lugubrosities
Machine translations and other music anxious moments, my history in my shoulder
Nil return, nothing more until
Ormolu ticking in a back alley, near windmills and papyrus, fake ostrich feathers
Paper cups, a leftover, pencils smelling of cedar, a postcard pinned to the flimsy walls
Queen reading poetry, jumping through lush hoops, last night’s quest
Ringing, ringing, ringing, it won't stop
Splashes of cloud against blue slopes and filtered horizons
Tremors, something behind the eyes testing me
Ugly letters with return addresses, there's no going under
Veins crossing my palm left to right, without knotting vision yet
With a youth I used to swagger round wearing dazzles
Xanthic despite the silver mouse in my hand, o remember the days of xerox
Yoghurt isn't a food, she says, I have yawed by it, fetid and stale
Zooshed, and sticky with the product of the world, this zone of my own