Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Lachlan Brown #6 Synthetic Confetti

Synthetic Confetti 

He’s always interfacing in ways that are
unacceptable to others. It’s like he sneezes
in html, releasing a stream of particulate matter
or tiny identikit eyebrows. Everyone believes

in something when their eyes are shut
or when hayforever season revisits
our town like a blessing. These jumpcut
hundreds-and-thousands moments with explicit

atomisation all end in turned up gore,
when you’re killshotting hapless raiders
with weary resignation. There's more
to life than this, the checkpoint saviour

read back into the patterned splatter:
this is the cup, the crux of the matter.

NB: This poem is in response to Tony Curran's drawing below:

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.