Condensating window Thread pile Meccano bolted loft Full to itself wound With tightly Folded stories Spines and edges of stuttering stacked casings of text Managers manual to fast thinking Subtitle Of what? 35mm slides Of frames and shapes and shadows Daylight fading Tracing through grey leaf blown sky Fly suspended as Box file contents On a spiders string Singular web line Swings to the rhythm Of draft streams Two boxes say ‘A Mock Up’ another says ‘fragments’ So I sit with the mock up and the fragments and my head and still waiting for the chasm that needs to fall sharply into somewhere dark or somewhere cold or somewhere palpably wet or is it dusted and dry - somewhere plants can’t grow but ideas can A germination as stomach tightens, chest relaxes, shifting synapses or is it something different for you? I must stand and walk or sit and stare…is it the same for you? (They Call It Idlewild, 2020)
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