Friday 8 March 2019

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. 

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