What becomes of the green path
is a brown deadness
when the turntable spins
to an elegiac trend
piling logs in bundles of wood
scraps of rusted metal
heaped in an old basket
for an old woman to cart home
on her cracked shoulder

The pages full of crap
are the most exciting the most
volatile of all the lot in the garbage
for the vagrants to enjoy

In our trunks we list
one shirt trousers
one singlet shorts
one boot pair scissors
the rest we conceal in our clothing
so we are heavy as tonnes

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Read more in the Art Issue

 

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