L I t T e R

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Dianne Darby


flightlocked in moth flimsy fabric
stoopedsmooth & deserving
spine curvature

can you swallow it?

masked & hooded
i wreathed the hangman
ís vision festered
w/ fear of limitation
knuckled down
my trapped hands sewn
into mime

all refuse me

whose fingers know freedom
whose fingers know fear
& come flouting monstrous needles
to unpick kisses

repulsed through corridors of
leaves of light
carved appendages
paralleled framed

want me
(speak very softly for a memory)

shunted from birth into
ash gutter implications
ad nauseum & at sea skinsalty puckered
bones barrelled o the dead manís chest
scumfed me

this body
becomes air

succeeds invisibly shuddering pools of consequence
my stoned feet dumb

i am un

/obtainable & reduced to fake
surfaces deleted
empty stomach sacked
forensics arrive to recover the space i

quietly the boundaries occupy themselves


being fluid &
axehead butterflies dreamed

urban numerical the townís reference

a map animated w/ panic

raw anxieties fuel the correspondences

history and the artist strike again

his brush found now here on the intersection

? delicate & lukewarm footsy across eggshells

out on to black drag manacled slabs funereal

if he does not lie in time this shale sky will not admit miracles

even blue not option

the plot flourishes in stale yellow

you can get used to it yodelling

hot air in the throat

the wires whistle softly so news gets thro

(this is not an america

his painting inspired a fake arch

& nothing could be further from the light we are running
out of

somewhere close soldiers are laughing

or else wishing for a blue space to cry in

this position has been located

here among the axed butterflies

Copyright © Dianne Darby, 2005