the unknowable transforming point 341/ 345

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Stuffed aubergines

If we couldn’t speak would you still hear me
importance and it’s loss
would you still see me
armoire silk and stuffed aubergines roast
with rosemary garlic and a touch of nutmeg
two steps towards the chink
one step back
one step forwards towards
two steps back anticlockwise
rotate in upright position
breath deep and play chromatic scale
diminished 7ths and play some bach
projects await which have a daunting element
words songs ready
just need switch records button
but in the interim archive remix
awake from a dream that would change my mind

Tick of the clock

Sometime in spring time and last more
in thought twin abyss and de-coupling carriages
a free run from this particular tick of the clock
would be most welcome
think about the options and
rename replace rethink retell remark
the anxt crated and boxed

Looking for moths

I could be practising interrupting someone
I could be shouting ficfuc at the top of my serenity
otherwise preposterously tenanting the space
underneath one of my pianos
viva voce
looking for moths and spiders

Tuned and voiced

London halfway across the other side of town
recording and waiting or buses at whitehall
late at night plenty of light and friendly conductor
visage lady with red henna hair sitting opposite
no times now like this peaceable like an old film
this the seventies
swinging around big ben and what have you
all good dreams and shootershill road
fire escape stairs attic retrousse
save enough to buy piano
recordings noisy pursuits
bechstein upright replacement
interim pleasant old english broadwood
took some getting upstairs
piano then tuned
bought from a glasgow friend
in need of air fare to l.a.
owned by famous singsong writer
treasured played tuned voiced refelted
smiley sweet children and imaginary practise
now resides in a safe place

She wolf at the throat

Leaving space talk
how about the hasselblad
that went to the moon
worth a million in prizes
turbulence to the core van allen belted
it’s grey dull s.w.a.l.k. of crow
not even rook going round in circles
I don’t want to mention it anymore
to swallow is to accept
to think yourself together
to listen yourself together
to sound yourself
decrescendo veiling spectacular sensitivities
mirror smoke and insensitive tentacles flail
quixotically cutting someone’s air down to size
as if not the reverse
were to restrict and risk intaking turbulence made to make mouths
fangs of she wolf at the throat
she wolf at the throat
but not pressing down
calm look feel fur soft
tell her the story from the beginning

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