— The Collected Works Of —


The Observer is considered one of the greatest inanimate poets of the 20th century. His images face ancient difficulties in the void of distrust, loneliness, and extreme horror. These themes try to create a rift between ancient and modern poets.

This comprehensive webpage presents the complete works or all the significant works - the Œuvre - of this labyrinthine and shameless writer in one place - easy-to-read and easy-to-navigate:

A category for sure

A fictitious narrative, usually in prose, in which the settings or the events depicted are remote from everyday life, or in which sensational or exciting events or adventures form the central theme. Now chiefly archaic and historical.

{2022-04-10} pruina
{2021-04-20} sweet chariot
{2020-12-08} night on the town
{2019-11-11} ship log #1


Think of them as diary clippings, because that's what they are.


wide-open empty blue, your fingers splayed on the window
instead of weeping you say just as well, i'm still preparing
it's only transitory

before the thunder gets near

a child's dictionary:
weak small death marble ladybug cloud love
love from something that doesn't understand right from wrong from make-believe
i suppose the great thinkers knew stasis too,
returning again to the immutable essence
of the child's mind where the great empty blue
is full of —


put your coat on, slip into shoes
a scarf a hat and something
jingling in your pocket
to buy a ticket or a warm drink
"i'm off" so it slouches
to the floor in a heap
lidded flesh reverberates pink
and blue
while you run off into the cloudy afternoon
lost on streets you grew up in
it waits for you as a crumpled dog would
discarded but not deterred
unpicking, un-picked

here's what watcher had to say about it: "a clumsy end to hot girl summer."



we stand on the shoulders of giants, command their great big hands to tamp down the earth. you say you still can't be buried here.
if you leave, who remembers? our marks are so small, the white trim on water rippling, the stain on utopia.
cut down the trees with love. carve matches with love, leave out the phosphor with love, hold it in front of your eye. when your hair catches, that's the price of curiosity. the headless horseman, borrowed: see them ride out and seethe with hate, sour bile searing your tongue slowly.

"this sounds too much like siken, and probably a specific one that i'm only half remembering."