From Rime

(Rime – part one)

one by one one and they didn’t know and they celebrated their abyss me velvet black without a tongue kidnapped my eyes looked at the sky and tried to please a cruelty in sunlight this came from nowhere separated from myself like birds on adjacent islands I have evolved in several different ways and they’re all dead and I’m lying a thousand sticky things alive me too fall off in the bird’s film blue smooth green I wish them no idea may came in the spring favour quickly crushed for and only after tactics agonised the same approach from the directives to the disastrous results in this turn now of movement that the repetition be replaced soon in the meantime cut me the knife you’re using that slices your finger may not hold a reflection of reality it does align with something you have already seen in the wild your fingers are in everything from sand to icy water live and so I did so long before the flood and only

fragments shared spread out among the thousands in the form of smaller souls in grainy particles to complete unfinished business sudden waters which were under heaven from  sudden waters that were above where birds fly you make a copy of something and then make a copy of that copy and a copy move in traces white broken creating airwires seawires having to rip up remake all connections affected on a wide white  sea and never caught in detail my soul is full and full no tongue fall down into cough flakes a leap of love with and who on the immortality of here and was who glows shines like rotten wood it shows the good and does no good reply give both the lie was up my eyes were sour the fish light a bullet I fell into the sand in the shadow of the ship I looked at the myriads the blue the shiny green the black of this cage slacked and slacked and every track it was a flash of golden fire o good living things languageless they may announce their frozen beauty and our drift is the fish and our drifting our obligations the dint of our ill society


From Crashed Anglia (Rime – part two)


From Coda: Without Reason (Rime – part three)









P. Farrell

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