Digital Poetics 3.11: Definitions by Tom Crompton

cloudscopping scribbles
and piss oil lesion
when I read this 
in a big room
the echo can outlast 
idiot 

~

graveyard cranesbill

or the dog rose you’ve got
summat like moths
with valerium

mouth wash the kaleidoscope 
and I’ll count them
as swallows 

diving at cows 

in black black candle 

daylight  dappling 
the grove of aspects 

no chance of art like rain 

~

defused as in spread 
rhythms sprung toadflax 
and look how the wall rolls out 

with silver radomes 
that listen to us 
our active branched mutations

phantom jays of last season 
up in my name tree 

with a mucky way finder
do not belong in work 

~

from disharmonies standpoint

when I go to the shop 

summat raises summat breaks
negotiating in a state of weakness

everyone a little market 
or else a kind of pig

not like there’s an alarm here

for the crows just born
over grey and white houses

I’ve got a stinger

and you do too 

lemons definitions and knowing

burns like english soap 

or abstractions strung together

speeches at a police wedding

tree scrape lamp music

~

idiot to oxeye
selfheal 
to burn 

my body walks the oak-up toilet 
soapy haywire 
pressing me harder 

crush back the metal while looking 
for birds 

in pandemic graveyards

where someone took the funding
to panic steering point 

don’t mind us choking down pearlite
holding our hands

in the toilet
with my phone light 

here it comes 

to jagwort
my replacement

~

after rain 

soil creeps 
fast alien 
plecs 
a bit of cardboard 
that we got 
for waiting 

military discount 
lowing the rates 
while stats tan the elder 
and stars can’t keep me 

from you, scowbank 
lisp on the swallow 

holes last no wings 
of cold clod dunce 
cloud-waver

bruzzy once

now swanning 
up like dander
moths to kiss 

the choups and churn heads 
mells itch water
and the boat man is a grass 

~

on cuckoos
fallow canons 
an acreage of skarn 

skarnt front 

my lifestyles sunless
 gank 

pied sunlet call 
and dreys our missives

changing into hold dog violets 

(dog rose
scanty lime 

a widening range 

of bright pig types 

where we take leaf

into the bursted may of airfix 

~

seed radicles 

satellite

  black acts 
to whose got previous 

say menwith 
say snowball

deflect the mayfly 

and boor comes from the wash

pace it yourself

spooky radomes
spiders
tempo 

whose fat of the land 

banging off mud like type 
bean sprout
bin edge 
skenshone head 

magazine management 
crawling with it 

~

as lifestyle
columns

militaries call it  

like a root calls 
to an instrument

take a measurement 

lexicon house

dischord house 

you have to sit down 
on the last return 

to language
if it dies 

know the smell
from ice cream
(has he
brief weeds
in the sun 
and a knack 
for opening 

total chevron 

on the status of forces:

overhead

black act 
apparition

~

so much you forget 
the mossy network 

blood drove here 
we are 
larking into the 

bright of things   

black acts

hurt my head with dappling 
like fronds had blest it 

business happens
in the countryside

uncivil to influx 

sky a spooky jigsaw 

above the union taint 

croakjoys while it changes

roosts turn thick
with idling 

while in the grove 
musical 
and shift 
jug 

jug 

reminds me
there’s no audience

~

april ends
consistently

says I’m into 
no poem 
fade outs 

like plans
for when you 
can’t manage

sneaping on the half plate 
beside a chucking up
story

learn stuff

become spiders 

stuff all 

like yesterday 

in the flash-pit

glizzen 

still catching my breath 

~

preemptive allergies 

gley my diesel 

then it’s me
and you
immaterial

no free bet no lunch 
with allegories

the day is a gurney 
gollin the day 

what’s addictive
what it means 
not mean any of it 

at the bulldog front 
stinking it up
for someone

there’s no poem 

to stand behind your gob 
of spaghetti a monitor book 

some ambient products 
glenting  

in the near countryside

~

on skying off 

heatherbleats
conspire
where you work late

like a skully 
putting signs 
under test

towed out through polymer woods 
how the thought gets in

that’s boreing 

and I am feeling hue footed 

for once 

today 

at the cemetery end 

torqued like cant 

bouncing spiders through the rain

*

Tom Crompton is a poet living in Leeds. He wrote, bait-time and Rapid House, both out through Distance No Object. He co-runs Gong Farm, and helps coordinate the Poet’s Hardship Fund’.

*

The moral right of the author has been asserted. However, the Hythe is an open-access journal and we welcome the use of all materials on it for educational and creative workshop purposes.