17 December 2009


Edge-ways (12/17)

Bridge of the nose a sluice across the room

You part the waves of people and become a cube

Each cheek a concave where shadow becomes reality

Your ears place themselves edge-ways and bore holes

This is wood on a broomstick drinking amaretto

You make the room geometric

Everything will become grids before you

You are floating over the stool in pieces held with string

Span of catilage and tunnels of endless smoke and stars

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