—The Punctured Library—
Simple Screw by New Zealand artist – Paul Hutchinson
A
Punch
Line
Always swollen with predetermined
Characteristics: the inevitable end-of-the-night
Black eye from that fight
You never
Never
Intended to start with my great
Uncle’s boots. Where is
The cyclical and the permanent and the
Show? Yes! That one, remember? When
We all stopped to watch you; in awe
(but me; afraid)
As you climbed ceilings, staged
Parades, ever tidal.
The waves ride
Out
Of our funny chase for daydream elixir
And through this salty mess
You pick me up, swell
Meaning. Some talk in the language
Of foamy ocean caress
I am
Locked
Down sore. This humour
Of the world won’t tell it all. Oh,
These Hippocratic humours are what I work
with. Wish,
In three-four-time, to actualise the world as it
Stood.
I never
Could find the right point in the repeating beat
To jump the slapped skipping-rope street
And run on
Through.
Through
With each and every personality theory rule, I
Try to find that poor,
Raw
Floor; all buzzing with the testing charge of
Zestyness. There
Is quiet, darkness and a calm mix
Of fairylight and foreclosure. Flyer-lined
Walls echo
Past ‘claps’ and roars
Mishaps
But not chores. We bought into it, clinging, it
Was so tight to our
Chests: some brand new rare vinyl.
Have we a little ‘circle time’ left? Maybe…
If the library is
Still
Breathing; failing lung of our condemned
Town, a town
We share. No
Matter:
You don’t paddle that pool these days.
