Temporary home | A stateless existence | You hardly call, I get the odd message, the wind | shovels leaves about | drop a star into a paper cup | A dead horse drags us around | we untie it from the cart sometimes | flog it mournfully | tenderly, almost | then when we can’t | care anymore | lash it back to the cart, set out again | stumbling among the cars and vases | the promotions and flings | It’s a kind of quantum film | Larry’s saying | It’s about the gaps between points of view | Maybe | No, really | This time it’s Jem-Jem speaking | It’s about the arbitrary nature of narrative | You say: It’s too long | I stand outside, smoking, looking in through the glass wall | at the hyper-cool design | you sitting at the bar with the boys | and Sam | forever checking her fucking phone | I think | how faded and old-fashioned this place will seem | in a few years’ time | how those fine | columns of space we inhabit at this moment | will be vacated in a little while | and fresh occupants will take them up | plotting their own stories | devising plans | new ways to allocate | the world of resource at their fingertips | Could be in a bar in some backwater in rural Croatia, or Poland, or whatever | Jem-Jem tells us | And this could be on the screen, but we don’t speak Croatian, so we don’t know what they’re saying | why she pulls a gun | So it all depends on the point of entry | the type of visa | the local language | the degree of engagement | the history and craft of the gun-makers | It’s warm for this time of year | and once again | I join the huddle of elegant refugees | smoking on the pavement | Is Jem-Jem right? | I wonder | Are we all being screened? | It’s post-modernity, right there, right in front of your eyes | Larry insists | …quintessence of the contemporary, or some old shit… Sam carps, nasal as ever, scrolling | We go back | the house bright and calm in the early hours | and among these strange, new moments | and white orchids | the way we smile before saying goodnight | an ancient sadness

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)