Issue 19




divine overload


Iain Britton





the cowboy cameraman


               shoots lemurs and bush babies


          for a living /          long-eared


bats       hang by their jackets


             their claws in dark figs



stripped down to robes       

you’ve learnt

to soothe a love-torn body


      a hot-paint job


smacks of transformation


            the re-enactment


      on a bald Golgotha /         the day’s


                        sojourn in the park is





hours spent at cavernous sites



            uplifted rocks


take turns at shattering the daylight


into wafer-thin valedictions


             at targeting fresh fields


               the warm stares of spring’s


long shadows


building their homes



                     i look down


        on this love-torn soft toy 


which implies


                a lifetime in a day


      the political beliefs


               of assimilation and dispersal


i look down


    on the road runner and coyote /       down


    on comic buffs


                      chomping at their heels



the animated cameraman alters the angle



you step through a paper wall


            into the lightest of wind shifts /



        this portrayal is all about


                divine overload


and markets full of manna gatherers


          thrusting out hands


              for more sky

                    more parachutes

             in rainbows



the competition is fierce


for the best vantage point


        to shoot the breaking


birdspeak of an egg


    the sound of your lips parting


                         your forefinger touching /



tributaries on your skin


run freely



the sun’s oil

soaks in



            a refurbishment of ideas

                 alerts the body / your perceptions

              the crocuses emerging /


      i work with you


                     on intimacies


              stolen from Utopia

              from olde English proverbs



         we retreat inside


to the hospitality


            of a clear-polished lens

                 unearthing love songs


                       from the south seas




i latch onto you


            for this celestial fix


                 and like a boat


                   uploaded for a long voyage


we’re hoisted


         through stained-glass apparitions




bats          left behind


hang by their jackets


              their ecstasy


                       is high up




                               at figs










Iain Britton is online at the psychology of a river.  



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