L I t T e R

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Peter Dent



Cellophane Reminders

A saint's out operating distant machinery
Across the tip     delivered of her (often

It's) loneliness      a burgundy cloud meets
irresponsible eyes you'll argue      for basic

Celebration and 'confess?      that I dream
You thought forever?'      It's imagination

Swears      its own approval      with Chinese
Lanterns and music still caught up      by

Proxy magnifying the light      which leaves
The essay sulking       forgive an alternative

Explanation      concentrate on autumnal art
Which nocturne nothing can commandeer

Or burn      I'm here belatedly to engineer
Erasure to take you curious to the brink





Inspection Zone

So I'll write your name if you write mine?      no
you don't add distance with a brand new style

(I'm here to advise)      you       can think yourself up
into a brilliant constellation       and no two ways

About it      mirages in a word are plain enough
it's second nature most days you can find me

In if obliged to something disjunctive to cover
the facts       no joy when discoloration sets us all

On edge      I admit that 'doing lonely' isn't my
style and it's a slow job bleeding one thing into

Another       it shows malfunctions at their worst
who knows who's running the show?      you can

Tell a construct by the size of its smile! if I
catch high reolution in a word I'm signing off







Copyright Peter Dent, 2007