sometimes i feel stuck in the foreplay of a warm vaporous dream
*
i’m fascinated by this detachment of being – not being
i crave for new sounds – for intakes of fresh air – for
living off the edge of a clock
each day is transformative – each day rubs forecasts wrongly
corrugated clouds scrape changing summits
people don’t vanish that easily – they sleep amongst religious landfills
*
on the road – i cross a bridge – a lagoon – a fountain at work
often – a self-made fantasy rises from the water
i struggle with the mnemonics of a coded self – silhouettes
known to me – light fires in the dark
strange alliance
the movement is quick methodical i pull off my jersey the sun folds it neatly
followers of the man in the grey boiler suit talk tactics for standing on street corners slapping graffiti on people’s faces
the day is hooked as if by its nose sniffing at cherry blossoms the wild life of children at female office workers sitting on lawns unwrapping aspects of their menfolk
==
around The Square i count my paces
this ritual never changes i take ownership of the footpaths then stop by the carved Taiapa gate
==
i grab my jersey put it on the church creaks of wood & brick with too much carbon dioxide on its breath sparrows land on crucifixes old marble prophets a renaissance figure of human light at the door
==
you arrive you kiss there’s more to this the sky condenses steam into herbal-laced mixtures & hands-on practitioners drink up & anything newsworthy instantly disrupts dissolves
==
a sudden exposure forces us apart to find new spaces a youth
plays his flute to whoever’s riding the clouds the wind gusts or thrusting nature’s accessories at invisible crowds
he’s the sole occupant of his island logged in & feeding on music
he plays his flute drinks coffee sticks his fingerprints on landmarks for the blind for the hard of hearing
some rituals never change
==
i smell the sweat of nearby sounds
of stacks-on-the-mill offices
we expect a lot from opening books discussing good art ensuring the blue mosaic roof of the museum is part of the sky
==
we enter the long-distance lens of the grey-garbed performer preaching about the first birth first howl first mouthful of meat
==
at the Taiapa gate scraps of voices are picked over by workers returning to their homes
early moonlight chalks the footpaths whitens the bridge fondles stones
we mind map a long night’s journey into the contours of a metamorphosis a strange alliance emerges we let body cells liquefy extract core samples from our solar centres & for a short time we live spellbound attracted our seasons all entangled
Iain Britton is an Aotearoa New Zealand poet and author of several poetry collections. His work has been nominated for a Forward Prize for Best Single Poem and Best First Collection. Poems have been published in such magazines as Harvard Review, Poetry, The New York Times, Stand, Agenda, New Statesman, Wasafiri, Prototype, New Humanist. THE INTAGLIO POEMS was published by Hesterglock Press 2017. A new chapbook - Project Constellation - has just been launched by the London publisher Sampson Low.