At mirror’s edge
you linger undetected.

Any other gaze
relaunches identification
without forgetting

that a pair of closed eyes
remain open behind lids.

Who

Appearing as; depending on…

On naming the blackbird, it
was noted as being just that.

Whereas its vivid beak spoke
highly of nonconformity.

Encased in bold outline
wisps of impetuous intent
owe weight to reality.

An outstanding idea, leaves
behind a debt, that no amount
of thought can pay off.

And still nothing is straight
and again requires that I hold it.

No crossroads quartering continuation,
this sequel punctures deflated tyres
and rides flat out.

A precarious salute to the stationary
leaves one hand steering, or so it seems,
while the other airs.

Why aren’t you moving? Comes command.
From the outskirts of self a slight shuffle –
though only for show.

“I can only hear that which I have already heard.”
Blanchot, Awaiting Oblivion

I raised your voice
over (all) hearing.

Elevated a certain sonic barrier: horizon side.
Ahead of,

reaching delay…
when a late repeat sounded premature.

It is later,
but prior to familiar. I knew who to answer,

if not how.

“… from the crux of a thousand impossible situations…”
Djuna Barnes, Nightwood

A 1000
… launched by one

Instruction:
hold your 1 by its tail
thread the stem
through the '000's.

Result:
something like this:
-0-0-0- plus imagination.

At one with the noughts of impossibility
there is nothing an ‘0’ cannot add to a situation.

‘I’ happens
around another corner

5 x 10 is an iffy number

this mind tracks itself: thinking needs entertaining or entertainment

another 50 bends round in the road
another ‘I’

Reason shimmers through reason
at last there is no earlier, but brevity
ignored in place of sense. A

hand, lasting trace over all other
impediments. An ‘if’-powered
second, conducts.

Up:
at the peak, there is a running commentary
on success: the “we made it” monologues.

Indiscretion adores momentum.
“but I only came along for the view”

The director approaches the edge
sensitively he treads the bounds.

All surfaces have limitations, if you persevere.

Up:
at the summit, there are three days and nights left,
one for each emotion not yet undergone.

Acute tragedians, they run through adaptations
with intent: climactics abound.

Dramatising insecurity with ice axe props,
they digress from peril.

It’s a long way down from any stage.

Up:
in the history of heights, the kerb is not far to fall.
A guttural croak sounds descent.

Single-mindedly striding the yellow lines: cowardly
parallel, lingering on responsibility.

The scarlet smoker drops his butts,
alienated in collaboration.

Too much stimulation confuses confusion.
If I lived life over, I’d roll my own.

…” Ready for when the lift doors open on chaos.

(A cage that takes you higher than ego ever can.)

Tickets for the natural way: it’s such a raffle…”

Oh yes, you said, if you put enough fulfilment in the grate
it eventually lights.

First inflate the self.
Then painstakingly avoid pins.

“Going up”

Apply rouge to nostalgia for a healthy looking past. “…remember me well…” But the object of today’s caution is an alliance with the made-up. “… at times it was difficult to disguise…” At no point does gullibility resign itself to the artificial. “…ready to…”

Ready, again and again, it’s the only way. “…

Escape From Qualification

No quick fix crevasse
in the long run of promise.
Testing metal against metal
like a primitive electrician
doing time, who forgoes power
on your behalf. Taking a measure
of detachment into solitary confinement,
he buries the roots of detention alive.