‘This Archive is on Fire’

-I CADGED THE SIGNAL FROM MY NEIGHBOURS WHO IN A CONVERSATION (just the other week we had been out for a quick pint) ADMITTED (quite freely) TO HAVING NEVER HEARD OF GODDARD

Folie a deux= we see the sauce, where others see the meat, we see the tears at bedtime, where others see the meet & greet, we see information burn,

others have hands over eyes

rock//paper//scissors//on deaf ears

weight//wait//cut//tune out

and never tune back in

again

–I THREW A STONE AT A MAGPIE’S NEST AND STOLE BACK MY COUSIN’S BRA (who had never heard of Caravaggio or the bastard that was slain by his hand)

if history can be

torn,

span,

coiled,

looped,

enveloped in,

but reset in resin

and smashed against the library wall

then stay glued to your dead-head screen

(with beautiful brown eyes)

un-puzzle the pieces and stack them high

and climb them to escape through the bathroom window

–I WAS SO SURE POUND COULD RIGHT THE WRONGS OF HIS RIGHT (but, hey, where would that all leave me in the solitude of my one opinion, as I continually regurgitate from my triangle’s corner?)