Friday 9 September 2016

Intimate Cartography 2 - Third Batch

There's a slipping  of some kind and an
impact     a broken wooden rim is very clear
       cold and deep-red-brown kitchen tiles in
boxy blue air
     a deep cupboard of curious broken treasures 
               a sharpening numbness
               they're all present and gathered
               seeming expectant

       blood and  - pause -  screaming 
and a gathering then to a large & bustling 
       all-warmth & comfort 

Itching of 
anxious dread 
                        flecking idiocy 
                        hating haircuts

you secretly confuse 'pubic' and 'public' &
                    shifting sidelong wary
          attempting to trace a line out from 
abusive threats
thick electric breath & 
real danger of harm 
chosen with a choice of subculture 

It's all feeling as though it's already coming down
         or five      
running along dim corridors 
vibrating nostalgically in a thin 
blue-green glaze & beams of dust 

A bollocking at tedious length this hideous
          the buzzing
          dying eyes 
          dragging bowels
          nailed in place by need 

Transparent lethal yellow plastic disorientation
stretching through the air way up to the corrugated roof 
        waves of corrugated steel heat running down across 
everything rising from the packed mud floor

Shining fat-necked bottles of milk
        medical eye-patch   asthma
red brick      whooping cough

A black Bakelite phone in thin light and cold air

She is filling with a feeling that sings
through the skin across her shoulder blades 
            clear & touching the sun as her eyes
drink the instantaneous lives of children 

Cutting and infecting inside the skin, she
knows and briefly expresses the injustice 

the slavery of a cup of tea