Monday, November 26, 2012

thus says the gunman ~ Iain Britton

to turn again to

            the sea / the silver of a rainbow

the scoria run off

             of people

                   popping out live commodies

   of bird / beast / fish

             of landscapes unfolding /        


           to confess   

this woman

mouths         purities  to a gunman

who delves amongst the creases

of long purple clouds /          practises his

            lingo his aim /           pulls

successes from her body

             a sudden upsurge

of pilgrims takes to the streets


i see her as she is

straddling a rock on the beach going nowhere straddling very still on her rock
saying nothing / or something / pilgrims arrive to hear her riding nowhere very still
on the beach / the gunman taking pot shots as if she were a target is a target
as if she were an empty can a bottle a picture of his mother a cut out of General Custer another of the Duke of York who marched up a hill / again another of his mother
a cut out a picture

                           thus says the gunman

                     filling her with holes

        i see her as she is


i delve into the purple cloth

            of pilgrims


            where they’re going

             if they’re going

             some hesitate

             at railway stations

             bus terminals

             some abandon

             their vehicles

             where streetlights

             run out of eyesight


the sea washes the sand the rock this woman       just sitting

morphing copper-green then brown then dark blue / the sea

washes her skin

her hair

her crevices

    where fish penetrate

            i pull the best from her body

claim customary rights
taste the salt on her eyelids
the water trickling off her shoulders

her torso opens to my hands

        the miracle is
                       how she moves / sits up

                                 forever stares

            i tighten the sky’s scarf around her neck

            i am nothing but a spectral figure
            blurred by the crowd

                      observing the orbiting sphere

                              of my imagination


                   this shoot out is between opposites

                              says the gunman / just us

                   and this diminishing phenomenon
                                      body else

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