Pocket VenusMichael Blackburn, 2011 Limited edition originally published by The Red Ceilings Press, UK www.theredceilingspress.co.

uk

3/256 they didn't teach you to lie it came to you as naturally as a river falling down they believed you your lies acquired the kind of truth films have, and memories so even when you're saying nothing you're still lying

3/261 before we crossed the border we buried our gear in the dirt beside the road they let us through in minutes returning, they stripped the car safe across the line we lit our cigarettes hassle, said Jim and opened the ashtray which was full of roaches

3/277 unidentified plane crash west African route mysterious unmarked big enough to carry Colombian cartel worried about this new front lack of resources close to being overwhelmed cocaine-transit zone God-fearing becoming a user-country a rush of new mansions official oversight no one questions the source outright war

3/285 once you've bought it it's worthless why do you do that? why don't you copy it or steal it or borrow it or something? it's worthless why do you do that?

3/286 in terms of light the pocket Venus vaguely frightening emerged out of some primordial chaos

3/294 gaga pretty or sexy meaty moon wild jumped the fashion too hard wondrousness brilliant bonkers can't wait

3/299 floating orange ghosts up in the darkness fast slow you cant tell if near or far sudden change of course you never see them land

3/302 how well do you walk through the fire the rally was massive comrade Joseph writes I didn't like the menu and the chairs were uncomfortable the prototype is out I am so excited about the collars

3/303 four statements for the apocalypse the real battle will be the battle of Spain I started doing meditation two years ago a violent man kills to survive how nice it is to laugh

3/304 and afterwards keeping our souls clean passing through the Levels of Oblivion not drinking from the River of Unmindfulness we shall have our reward the story will save us this is not what I believe

3/307 another blonde wearing a red top on tv and it's only nine o'clock bad news is always good from a blonde wearing a red top and I like the weather better from a blonde wearing a red top

3/311 meetings oh God not another fucking tick box

3/312 To the strikers at Tula, June 1920, sign this: I, the undersigned, a stinking dog and a criminal, repent before the Revolutionary Tribunal and the Red Army, confess my sins and promise to work conscientiously. That's if you want to get out of this camp and work again.

3/316 in the face of such adversity I keep my eyes shut really really tight

3/317 due to a full moon there is pornography exploitation narcotics abuse burlesque channel streams of predatory sexism no discussion and nobody gets hurt

3/319 my green past this English field summer dusk light gold on steeple and barn three girls in the garden they sing

3/335 Danger road is blocked for hours Roundabout work draws to a close All welcome as hotel opens doors of a new pub Station revamp is well on track Plea for information after women shocked by sex pest Top cop faces conduct inquiry Charges over fire at house Home Care service user dismayed by council Psychologist assesses Town's struggles

3/339 1) you're taking a lot of things for granted 2) just tell me where in the world you will find these angels who are going to organise society for you? 3) well, I don't even trust you to do that

3/342 very nasty gin, psychiatrists duck ponds village forebodings a mockery of attention meekly, I stepped in

3/345 Michael, here come some more stories we ran into them at 18,000 feet we went into them line astern I kicked the rudder, let go in a four-second burst I saw the tracer he seemed to hang motionless and he spun out of sight it had happened he was dead and I was alive

3/359 in the beginning was the Mud and the Mud was with God and the Mud was God and the rest was Mud

3/364 She retched suddenly, puking the last mouthful of vodka and lime all over his left knee and foot. He leapt up in disgust. Oh, for Gods sake! he shouted, what was that for? I told you, she snapped, wiping her mouth, I told you not to show me your wrists.

Michael Blackburn's previous collections include The Prophecy of Christos (Jackson's Arm) and The Ascending Boy (Flambard Press). His most recent titles are Big On The Hawkesbury and Spyglass Over The Lagoon, both published by The Knives Forks And Spoons Press. Once described by Neil Astley of Bloodaxe Books as an enfant terrible of British poetry he has now matured into a grandpre terrible. Founder of Sunk Island Publishing, erstwhile editor of various magazines, one of the country's first Literature Development Workers back in the twentieth century and a former Writer in Residence on the Internet when most people didn't know what an internet was, Michael Blackburn now teaches English and Creative Writing at the University of Lincoln. A recording of each poem in this pamphlet is available on Audioboo - http://audioboo.fm/SunkIsland Michael Blackburn on Google+.