Litter Home Page

 Header image
Iain Britton

Factory Music Prophecies


packs down         stripped of its



a lush pink Friday

              dissolves &

an oleander tosses off stars


young people walk in stripes

     destinations touching

heads & limbs

          i flick on lamps

& birds perforate the shadows


i’ve this closet /      full of factory music

gyrating new leases of life /


mouths / eyes / skin samples 

become mixed up /        / faults appear

        ancestral priorities get muddled


i flick on my lamp

          & read why buggers like you & me     

                bury our hearts

in tall indigenous trees /

              good interpreters become priceless commodities

         & people argue

which is the best camouflaged house in the street

who feeds the plants       which push at the prophecies
which push the green blood through veins /          
                                        what remains

          marks time on the spot        

a gesturing xenophobic

                      walks in my shoes


The Red Ballon

pointillist spots

make all the difference /


a therapist holds me to her theories

on which coloured balloon

         should i choose for survival


the bell on the roof

pulls its rope

         & make-believers shuffle

                   through months of periodicals

glossily detailed for reading /


they bookmark pages

go with

         the girls ripped open by the moon

         they live for renewal
ticketed pilgrims clicked & stamped &

cleared for departure

the girls run red

                         along wet streets
                         where idols hang 
                         like half-formed faces      



self portraits

                live cooped-up in houses

damp suggestions of another life

     glad-wrapped      into equal portions



i want to believe there are consequences
for going early from the party /

at the door       a girl

is happy to give me a red balloon



Copyright © Iain Britton, 2016.