The sparkling yeast of a secret, whispered behind her hand into your ear | A neural fire

It sets trees of blood growing at speed, a red forest soon engulfs the moon and even the sun as you feel light | becomes superfluous

I love dusk in London, especially in summer and spring, I’d love to see it all from a distance, floating above the city like a figure from Chagall, the progressive flowering of points of radiance all over the grid | An intense | expression of artifice / the simple need / to see through gloom

In the dense undergrowth, the brittle, glassy toys of syllogisms crack beneath your feet as you make your way through the secret’s / glades / its temperate splendour / leaf-dappled paths | ramifying | evolutions

Aroused dreams unfold and grow all around her, flourishing and fading | civilisations and theories

You find your heart is composed of an infinite number of disparate points, most of which | don’t belong to you at all

The secret’s forest floor crackles with the tread of strangers and you realise you’re not alone | inside her whisper

She turns to all the things she is not, and she | is them

 


from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)

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