Friday, 15 June 2012

If So

























Cotton bud cloud caught on wire. Voices inhabit spaces different from the spaces their bodies might be thought to inhabit. It was customary to converse with angels every step of the way.






Long bodies tiny under clouds. Sound like a bell not sounding. After sex they would shyly offer scraps of embroidered material to the first ghost they’d meet.






Slow shuffling movement of rain in the lanes. Sound like nobody walking alongside nobody. When saying goodbye they would stand on their hands & jiggle their feet until birds flew up from bushes & trees shouting ah!






Coverlet horizon, blue-gold fleck-flake. Storm moves rapidly against the face, seals lips, uproots tongue. Their prayers and playthings were left to lie where they fell, that travellers should remember to forget distant homes.



(Image from Eliza Pughe, ca. 1831-1850, Pictorial Dictionary 1843)

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