Day 1

 Describing an object 


There must be, somewhere a person

perhaps a woman or perhaps a man

Or either

Who designs those bouncy castles


The ones you see out of the corner of your eye

On inconsequential days of your life

Of days of your life which are utterly meaning full

Like it was the day after you gave birth

pushing your baby , floating in a new world


Or other times

Head down, anticipating joy 

as you were haunted by

your own grizzle cloud of misery

The sheer movement of soar and coming down


There must be somewhere, a design for this

Drawn on a scrap of paper

Or a window with a fingertip

Or more likely, properly to scale

For health and safety


Without the proper guidance

The castle may become a craft

Barrelling through clouds

A boat on paperish sea


And it seems likely there is a terminology to this

The seam of the plastic

The double stitch of the edges

The balloon and the bassoon

the

Chanter and  the bouncy legs

The hermit of the little labyrinth

The mother of the bouncy floor

All these

Will be sketched and measured out

The material frocked and the material shipped

Glued and poured


And the best part is

Nothing till its filled

With -

noone can decide

pure air

Stolen voices

Purloined sky


You know someone who folds stone henge

Airless 

And keeps it in his untidy garage

Has studied the propropcentpc system


of lungs and marine creatures

A rhino or an elephant

The cauliflower of a whale


And you tell me

All motion is good 

And that you will adjust

Eventually to the ground

Not being solid.

Beneath your feet

And you will be used 

To keeping jumping

Even when you’re crying.


And you will be used.to

The music of the obstacle courses

And you will be usedto 

The relentlessness of softness 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 28 venn

  The venn The venn diagram of us interacts  Not so much intersects  as breaks their bubbles and swallows up When we're cold, the barriers immutable  Are solid You know the magic trick where the rings interlap That’s us that’s us  That’s us Unless it can be proved that  We are not And the rings fall apart The venn diagram of us interacts  Two become trefoil Or some rough alchemy You know the new leaf That is three in one. From two That’s us that’s us You know the lonely petals. That’s us too We have likes in common But we also have hatred This is where your worst behaviour. Seeps into and joins into the best of mine. Reverse it . Make it thoughts. Make it colours For too long we've been subset Facing subset. Allowing statistics to map  And to define geometry, Laying out The diagram of us 
Read more

Day 2 Sappho remixed

Again love, the limb-loosener, rattles me bittersweet, irresistible, a crawling beast. Look I told you  When I was being clever That Nosferatu is a modern love story   As Sappho writes, is hunger And as she also wrote Love is a battlefield  All the untidy soldiers  No match for what we care for That mild word What makes us live and love on and on  And my widowed grandmother Not speaking at the man she’d lost decades before But singing in a quiver voice at no one Honestly, I wish I were dead. “Alas, how terribly we suffer, Sappho. I really leave you against my will.” The lynchian red neon Of heartbreak hotel By the white rock of Delphi I knew I’d lost Everything I care for  But choose to think of it like this A temporary madness Leaping into the dark waters 
Read more

Day 24 the music

The last time we made music, All of us, All the order were masked  In white and blue And for these in it for the haul, black crepe It was a kind of slow horror and we saw A body shipped out in a narrow boat A stretcher or a door You sister opened the creaked old iPad Screen also dead, but underneath the apps trying Garageband, and laid a beat down as if she Were planning something good And you spoke over it With what new words came into your head And they were great The cut glass of your voice And I was thinking  Could every memory be in a song? Like this? Every memory like this Able to wth a finger halt the sky From moving and the sun from make arc And the moon from dilating shrinking It’s a mood And the song was called As I recall it, silver trees in a birch wood Of my reflection. Dark brown dye And a kind of powdery cold Some got tall, some didn’t-see How I have got older but I do remember all of it, that song The name of it was called   I'm lost here somewhere  F...
Read more