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

                                   in     the

you know what you are watching for

we will
for it

                                   fleshy entity on its back
                                   staring up

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

                                     blood                         sun


the tendrils of sound                         separate                                                  
          divide                            down                             into                                                                             fundamental units

                          sex grunts                                                    or barking
          nailed to a tree 


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


          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

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: Twitter:

*Image credit: Horacio Salinas Blanch, Cover Art for β€˜ColecciΓ³n SΓΊper FicciΓ³n’, ca. 1976 – 1986