Material Wriggling (so far)

Light walking a shining pearlised

sheer sheet, glass damage &

irrelevant intent skimming across a 

density of insufficient resistance;

an increasing cold red mid-range

whining of contemplative satisfaction 

plus a four-dimensional ring of

anxiety over unmade travel arrangements

drifting over slowly wriggling legs 

sticking out of a bin, feet in wet bed socks -

opening out a damp and shivering rent

in soft blue-grey air, self-care and self-

identity are tending to shimmer from the 

edge and then inwards - and then out, 

and, suffused with lust, the bright light

is full of saliva and electrical muscular impulses. 

Skin greasing dirt onto paint: a dull

smear, a shining through a diamond-

hard temporal absolute, run through 

with lurid impossible colour, infinitely 

parting with Planck-length cracking,

a movement to alpha centauri via every 

route along and out of the way; a fingernail 

scraping away a layer of skin inside a 

limitless ricocheting hail of waves/

particles/strings and a door swingiing

through blocking and unblocking,

a dull shine passing back and 

forth across a satin surface, dimmed 

slightly briefly every apex, an interference of 

dirt greased by skin onto paint. 

Across a red brick wall a little winter light will 

fall successfully, wriggling to it in many billions,

processing the problem of a world like a 

universe in which it exists. A problem that 

subsists. A brief morning folding onto a past morning 

and a sharper, harder light. And when light lifts away

and darkness rises from the asphalt and pavements,

bringing coolness and the scent of living 

flesh, an undulating and a fizzing starts that is

loving every connective glance of a 

living collective joy in a heart of matter, a

rapid gesture of an appendage that draws through

another space, another substance and every

molecule of every mode, a gesture of defiant joy.