Kit Kelen #1159 - contraption

1159

contraption

I keep the broken things

a bottle of beginning

and would have met mum and dad

here we are first up

awake in our dreams

where the mind comes back

and sometimes pray for the blank

though pointless

I am writing the instructions here

 dozen languages can only warn

the pixels

and the on off flash

this is

time lit dustily

on shelves and selves

leaf-falls, mysteries-in-text

name of a pub, lost Cotswolds

we lit up the clock with a song

crooks’ chambers

have the thing apart

spread out over a desk

like sex

trail following and woof

in certain steps

take partners

till you can’t

I ink swim too

dust of other worlds

to bless the head turning

little world

returning

pinhead angels demons dance

witness self older

guess your next breath for my home

so shallowly

so shallowly

until you can’t

be thoughtless

but try

often interfere with my self

and soften afterwards

in woods

in words

all that is machine ache

they come in lines

the throws of mind

familiar clouds

not quite the same

all broken

so thoughtlessly

so thoughtlessly

I manage a vanishing here