#1888 - four hic et nunc drafts for Maggie Ball

 

1888

6.61

2.iii.25

four hic et nunc drafts for Maggie Ball

 

apple

 

for my eye

and bite

sweet fleeting

scent stronger before

sticky

the next chomp

keep at the vanish fruit

till core

then rewind

unmasticate

to whole

so hold

 

and now the trip comes on

 

here’s the weight of another colour

it’s green again, it’s irridescent

the apple glows to fur, to feather

to carpet and to glass

 

the apple is a rock

 

you imagine the apple explodes

 

it was a world once

rind picked at when

 

but time has passed

it’s putrid

 

all the barrel gone

 

that Schiller’s apple in the drawer

 

to stimulate the mind

 

at his desk

 

a collection of plugs and wires

the screens

and all these books

scribble

dust under

over

dust between

all this ought to do

the diaries, dictionaries

many memory sticks, hard discs

envelope backs

my koala, my Munich tiger

little pictures of long ago

the webs around the windows

almost everything yet to finish

 

grain of desk timber

scratch against

 

walls hidden behind the words

 

Moomin eyes in brown paper

 

a fez

 

the strung rooster

 

little red beetle

 

5/-  10/-   £1   £2

red purple blue green – the coat of arms

 

a breeze from above

and the breeze from the other direction

 

ache in my various joints

 

socks loose, still a little clammy

 

an itch but now it’s gone

 

quick sip

light perspiration

 

the day under the day

 

a view from

where I am

where we are

 

and do my deathscroll

you do too

 

here’s spinning wheel of death

 

and in a patch of shock below

 

digging where to be bitten

 

tugged in every direction

 

driven

 

just the taste of tea

Daikokuten

little Japanese good luck god

 

robed

and holding what?

colour of mud crafted

baked to be

a little bent with time

statue in solidity

and on the righteous way of luck

 

as if against the cold, this clutch

 

my father gave you to me

you’ve been with me all these years

 

pretence of unchanging

a history unknown

 

I try to make out a face

but I can’t see what was felt

silence is not where I sit

during John Cage’s first movement of 4’33”

 

I have a Chopin polonaise earworm

a bird above it

clumsy half remembering

fanmidst

tinnitus attention drawn

and the mind on its precocious wander

where the mind’s not permitted at all