an end to what stung first
° lover of swamps rest here and for you a wet riddle: two hard dumb creatures are bashful and flaky like ripped chicken cut down from their safe flaggy plot they make a girl grow up between them fringed in her hoary red skirt creeping she feeds gentle on their stripy meekness the slow- drawn hoops of their careful breeding if they let her grow glad of her grazing body she will become silly and hot eat them up bit by bit fast forgetting the soft way they rubbed her up
°° the wrong way to measure this time-hefty cloth is to name it as flammable or the weft warped up. lie marshy to yourself with the riddles of auld the sex parts they cloak the babies they want and lose or the water they use to douse too plainly the words. eg the river travelling down itself the fish in that river singing: for as long as i live i live in him if we part from one another it is i who will die – as if mate
°°° a swaying jaunty magpie on the edge of water can a path be this thin this silver or is my eye thinning in the sun to see? a stock take of your self by the canal is a dock leaf of your self as a nettle is a mock-up of this old hemmed river with its rude unseemly length the little sinky foss n plastic pudges in its betraying edges. i’m a cursor out of my depth saying what land feels like to be of above on over in
°°°° the first section of the standard car theory test is called hazard perception a screen attached to an old computer stands in for the car and for the body but the road is notional your eyes a group of twenty or so deer glitching badly their tawny bodies repeating one design across your vision in the driving snow so you touch the mouse to indicate you’ve seen life
Aisha Farr
Kingsland Towpath / Whitmore Bridge
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