17 September 2010


Stringing 9/17

Line down my finger over my wrist – it is the bridge of a viola
plucking up my arm – my veins are purpling against the grain
and I am tightening everything against this moment

I am raising against your chin – everything is prickled hairs
on the body – my arms are bows moving across lines – we
are moving across lines – we are poles in a field transmitting

This is a grid of poles – a line of violin strings playing against
lightning – metal and making a net of electricity – the bow
land pressing against – humming

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