Interiors of Loathing

Those who surround sign of irrigation directly beneath the sanctuary
their most sacred structure over our existing shrine
dry sand mouth pieces of string gritted eyes with clean sand

we had come all this way to the surface exhausted
optimism a strength not the decisive pain killer
doughnut-shaped clay ring neck a physical dread

yields to keener perception a jar-shaped pocket
nothing to now lose its ends diverged
the very contrary its rear just over three metres long

thick crowd of illusions its ends diverged
Art a state of innocence extended rearward
between n measures and empty

occupied an alcove jealous care for reputation
beyond the bench thoughts crinkled the rear boundary floor
serrated, pleated, gilded until they merged

along arcs of somewhat shorter blue as a glacier
converged toward the front forty-one degrees centigrade
from the rear boundary summer noonday street

opposite points thirty-seven at two in the morning
in arcs of relatively long radius through half-open windows
now December air forces a vertical passage splayed slightly outward

sides defined by a continuous curved wall
by fine snow a brief moment wreathes a blue lantern halo
The worst is taking ten steps across the room a subterranean kiva

with mental concepts of our use walking five yards along the garden
having night’s rest broken by sudden expression in structural pattern
fell into the pit of it unable to climb out

arthritic jabs reach out with impulsive picked up the pit
turned it upside down gestures to pick up a stick
lift down a book now imagined chastised in leash-tied strain.


Allen Fisher

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