Pylons and marshes | marsh flowers on slender tensile stems | NOT PULLED IN and not quite expelled | you wait for the gaze to collect you and end you

OH, YES, COMPLETE COLLECTION and the glimpse by lightning | There are camellias printed on your dress | no one will understand you, be comforted or start running

You want to die in the snow, you frighten the children, but fear is also | part of life | CHOSE HIS OWN PRISON CELL and wasted his spirit | in among rumours of bad terrain and mountainous pay-offs, in among | snatches of motorbikes and Jesus

Back once more to the old domain, the HERO AND THE SUN, the bull’s blood | flashed upon the ground where children picnicked | We took a flat-bottomed boat across the river | had no intention of killing time | with the jet-set and the in-crowd | mesmerised by their portable labyrinths

DO YOU WANT TO BE ALIVE? THEN let others choose the cell of your prison | let them bond you to your long death | The ghost leapt over the dry ploughed field, scaring the farmers and their slow-burning kin

Start running, start running | scatter the rooks with their miserable roots | of scrawny complaint, their miserly | GRASP OF CONCEPTS and comedic | insolence with the book | in the ashes of the silver automobile | partially | incinerated bodies of driver and passengers | luggage scattered from the popped trunk | litters the verge and the road and the field | of scorched sunflowers | possessions | trailed from mangled roof-rack and back seat | gramophone, stockings and gin | and you very still | staring from below the ice of the lake | up at the stars and their cool funeral | such a procession and NO MOURNERS

IN AN ACTUAL SNARE, the songbird | struggles and blood jumps | and the adjudicator comes by at last | to weigh the wings and account for the song | When he leaves the village, on foot, the wind | blows the adjudicator’s hat across | the cracked brown furrows in a circus | pall of dust | and the surgeon | has his own story about the lions, the ribs and the gall | The midwife | has no children of her own | and the full moon | is never once mentioned by the people who count | the train powers past the wreck and the day | can never be the day again

As soon as you leave, someone else takes your place, or no one

 


from the series bliss point | angels of disorder
(open-ended, 2012–present)

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