blank
jagged white light in a room in splinters
molecules assembling themselves
into the semblance of beds
in rows
a series of curtains
swept back by hands
set to twelve hundred hours
the director told us not to worry about blocking and proxemics
allow ourselves to become them
let moments happen
but it plays out the same way every time
so you can see something
so you can talk about it
this
future
moment
mapped
in the
hands
you know what you are watching for
we will
make
space
for it
fleshy entity on its back
staring up
howling
music is organized sound
several of them are visible now
it is difficult to distinguish their limbs
from the the filaments connecting them
their mouths are sore horror spaces
retching red phonemes
when you first listen
they sound together
a wet metallic symphony
later
flat
blood sun
photon
ocean
the tendrils of sound separate
divide down into fundamental units
sex grunts or barking
nailed to a tree
inconclusive
two of the entities were lying next to each other
the observers were unable to ascertain whether they were dead or merely dormant
a grey syrup seeping from their primary orifices
collected between them
closer analysis revealed the liquid to be
a medium of communication
we dipped the translators
and got back
a hard ocean
la mer
she formed herself around the red clock out of gravity and static / she induced black holes in herself through which to see, smell and devour / photons hung about her in heavy halos / she formed herself around the red clock, irrigating the communication channels with ocean blood / the first and last flesh signified its own fibreglass catastrophe / deforming herself into the red clock, she made a hole named a hole herself, lining the archways with pretty bones, lying in mazy patterns, hanging from a tree / photos of her halo, her sea / listening at the shell to the murder tongue, grave, static, taking notes, taking orders / deformed red clock, spider limbed / hard gloss of blood ocean / tattered static / foaming around herself, moving in mazy fibreglass / mothering the murder tongue
preparation
The skull-white space
is sharply circumscribed
the observers are required to fix their attention
to a collection of objects
of apparently symbolic value
an ocean or its representation
a fibreglass anatomical model
of mother and unborn child
in cross section
three screaming figures
a severed head
the artist called it
preparation for the final mystery
you could hear an endless piano
source unknown
ββββββββββββββββββ
James Knight is an experimental poet and digital artist. His books include Void Voices (Hesterglock Press), Self Portrait by Night (Sampson Low), Chimera (Penteract Press) and Machine (Trickhouse Press). Website: thebirdking.com. Twitter: twitter.com/badbadpoet.
*Image credit: Horacio Salinas Blanch, Cover Art for βColecciΓ³n SΓΊper FicciΓ³nβ, ca. 1976 β 1986
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