IKE COLE BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

Ike Cole, 38 years old
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, $25

On aisle 3
you can buy milk
and you can get butter
and cream and cheese
and yoghurt

On aisle 9
you can buy Frosted Wheats
and you can get Corn Flakes
and Nutrigrain bars
and Coco Pops and Lucky Charms

On aisle 2
you can buy plums
and you can get cabbage
and spinach and thyme
and habanero peppers

On aisle 15
you can buy frozen peas
and you can get fish fingers
and potato waffles and swede
and oven fries

On aisle 7
you can buy vodka
and you can get Bacardi
and tequila
and Napoleon brandy and bourbon

On aisle 4
you can buy kitchen towel
and you can get toilet roll
and bin liners
and make-up and sterident

A moment where you forget
what you were doing with your life
and you've left your wallet in the car
and you are holding bread and beers
and you are meeting Ike at 6

On aisle 10
you can buy peanuts
and you can get pretzels
and crisps and Mini Cheddars
and Pringles

On aisle 6
you can buy lemonade
and you can get Coca-Cola
and Pepsi cola
and cherryade and bottled water

MAJOR TOM BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

Major Tom, 20 years old
KANSAS CITY, KANSAS, $20

He'd scratch at the track marks
on his ankles and arms.
He never looked at anything anywhere
for more than a second
and made me nervous.

I think I loved him like a movie star,
like anybody you'd see in a gossip column.
He kinda reminded me
of the corpse of River Phoenix,
as if he'd been laid out for the tourists.

I tried to see him less and less
and each time he shrank.
Last time he was bone
and when I stroked his skin
I swear it came off in my hand.

He only wanted to see himself in a magazine.
He thought he'd be astronaut by now.

MR FARAGE AND THE TIDE

Mr. Farage looked at the coast and bawled,
through a BBC megaphone
sponsored by Gazprom, at the sea.

All this water, coming over here,
taking British shingle from British beaches!

Kelp coming up through the stone.
One high tide.
Mr. Farage plays Cnut
in his highchair, throwing all his rattles
at the oncoming flood 'til it turns
and hangs him dry.

A conference of molluscs applauds.
Crabs lick their claws and descend.

ANDRE SMITH BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

Andre Smith, 28 years old
BATON ROUGE, LOUISIANA, $30

Dusk. The coin falls drip.
A plastic palm frond shivers in the breeze
of an opening door that closes
on a scuff of dust.

Outside on the parking lot, Andre,
a black youth, muscle gilded bronze
in sunset, waits
for somebody to get lucky.

The drawers glide out and in.
Silver stacks and slips.
It's a well oiled machine.
In a motel, lubricant prepares the skin.

MR. FARAGE APPLIES THE GREASE

probably you might say that
it was possibly racist perhaps
you may infer homophobia in any 

major party there are rotten 
apples threatening
to spoil the upset cart but look

no-one holds a clean slate
and the donations were received 
in good faith by the treasurer potentially

you could dig up dirt but the fact
remains that possibly probably
you could infer or say that maybe

ERIC HOLT BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

Eric Holt, 19 years old
SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO, $25

I'd call Eric on Fridays, some time
after midnight when the news
and a bottle of Jack grew stale
bedfellows.

I first picked him out on the Boulevard.
Drove him the cool night road
out of town in the convertible
with the roof down.

I think of Eric. The smell of his hair.
The way he sipped his water. His cock.
I feel shame, but never stopped
him coming.

THE EXERCISE POEM

For IC

Imagine a place from your childhood;
write down three things you can see,
three things you can smell,
three things you can hear.

Imagine a pair of hands;
what are they touching?
Write down three things they taste of.

Imagine you are an object from your mother's childhood.
Imagine you are a suitcase.
Write down three things you feel right now.
Write down three things you will feel later.

Go back and delete any word that rhymes.
Go back and delete any word containing an f.

Now interview everything you've just written.
Render the responses phonetically.
Do not stop writing until I say