The mystery guest behind the water feature,
face distorted by magnets –
is it really you at last? Lost for so long, and
once found made steadily
more like us, consuming strangeness
wholesale?
Tiny, tiny machines nest in soft assembly,
never yet pillowed nor
dispersed by way of osmotic suction
of an extreme kind;
against which, dreams, about freedom and
wanting.
– And something bursts violently through from
the interior to the body’s
surface: flailing, unfolding, eating darkness –
casting a fateful gloss,
slumbrous first fruits divided with real knives,
foretold.
Raked or stranded in fierce strips, the target
trips and goes over,
spinning in partial treatment, a hammered slide
between frequencies
ramped up through slippery seasons; stiff with
fortitude
but assembled by entry, takes a chunk out
of declared edges, signs
transposed in lawful order and lossless
orbiting of each attractor;
coasts to a full stop, and comes at last
to rest.
.
Nick Totton
Art: Rupert Loydell
.