Some Assembly
They move towards a new
themselves, plugged
into a shining romantic
grey-black surface,
reflecting two
skintight legs & there's
a smoothly passing
hiss of bulbous shadow and
bright edge. They ache slightly
to be at the forefront of a past,
of lights in a wet city that echoes
with a cold night satisfaction,
and they may get some faint
tremor of that kind, maybe,
across a perimeter and through
a forgetful burial in necessity
and information as they
move towards a new themselves.
Freedom
They're not sure if they want significant movement or
space in which to quietly enjoy their own self, or
both, in fact, variously. It's nebulous,
but in either case and both cases they need to
couple and uncouple and couple again,
whatever it is needs to be built and will
reach out as they say, to some sort of
other thing. What is this scenario? They are
a movement with a projected potential and a
light, pearly grey and unrecognised,
within which they move, suggestive of something
that affects a quality of movement.
This is something like what they want;
it seems both easy and almost
impossibly difficult, this utter involvement
out to the farthest reaches of space and
all substance and time for that matter and
back down to a sensation of a slightly greasy wall
against fingertips, along with a sense of
unfolding differences affected by choices
without the interference of a fascist establishment.
Glamour
In a cloud of light, a drift of smoke
they see it, they see a projection through
shining winter hair and laughter,
not hiding so much as extending
a sense of solidifying music in a
very major key. Everything's fine
and growing in the warm summer
lucidity, a frozen bare-legged stride,
a pirouette, a warm sophistication.
Just 20 quid and there it is again,
stretched across the dirty brickwork.
Omniscience
Moving through, beside, shining hedge leaves radiating depths of vegetable bitterness
Indigenous Armed Group Formed in the Mountains of Guerrero
Thin yellow light strip between clouds & distant shallow hill, muted winter stripped lung line
Dasein must in the first instance answer for itself
Reflective play across glass, through flashing light and dark and shining blur
Last ditch talks over tube strike arranged
Trailing gently over damp abrasive bricks alongside shallow wriggling tarmac reflections
Dozens of inmates killed in Brazil prison riot
Heat, light and a rich black shadow burned into a road
These are the women who have the least to lose and the most to gain
Pans hang and collide gently, a unique music to a unique breath
I may not have meaning, but it is the same lack of meaning that the pulsing vein has
Sources of quotations:
Derrida, The Gift of Death
The Morning Star
The Guardian
Hannah Zufall, "Jin - Jiyan - Azadi: Women, Life, Freedom", Lens Culture https://www.lensculture.com/articles/sonja-hamad-jin-jiyan-azadi-women-life-freedom
Clarice Lispector, Agua Viva
Fried Chicken
Felt in the pit,
in a brightness sliced across a pavement,
redness and scabby white and a dirty
pull they're lit by,
to sit in swaying thrall
to blissfully full vacancy
Dancing
"... this oaf had acquired instant grace ..."
A machine for flying deep
blue
through the sweat
and the aching calves
in a pathetic fallacy
from under
oppressive strings
smiling is good
and they can feel the grain of a
cold morning
Night
Somewhere in the folds of their palms,
beneath the skin they
feel giddy depths of thrilling darkness,
complex, rotating crystals, black fractals
splayed legged under yellow lights
breathing cold smoke and fumes to private
music, traffic, Doppler perfume,
muscular humming & fizzing against a
weight of atmosphere soaking into a throat
open and greedy
spring-heeled
Immortality
An expansion and a relaxation though
still they face the eradication of possibility but,
unhindered at first by a perception of crushing power
always sitting on their sleeping chests and laughing
through their seeming absence of significance, until
they start to wave, even without bucking or fighting exactly,
weight increasing and pressure on the air pipe and
it's so easy for the others who are sitting on their
sleeping chests, ignored largely, mostly, but now they
have even noticed and the nuisance must be eradicated
easily because it's not them just glancing but the sun is
low and bleak in the mirror and a joy of beauty
is going to be snuffed out, an absolute shredded and binned,
except that a night six weeks ago there was a glance that
is there and can't be removed, and other glances
into the low sun and the fog of Spring.
Validation
A working at snaring a breathing,
chaotic fragment to illuminate some
sense of sentient fire, to transmit across
a network of receptors a shivering, just feint, at
the surface, theft in order, to order
for the sake of marginal shimmering out
over a vertical blue to a depth of some three
metres on a good, polished day.
They skate with some grace along
the bright rim but seeming imperceptible.
There might be a multi-dimensional
solidity and liquid movements through
warm, breathable sunshine.
There might be fresh unfolding.
