The Poetry Kit

Competitions

Courses

Events

Funding

How-to Books

Magazines

Organisations

Poets

Publishers

Who's Who

Workshops

Home

Search

 

  Christopher Kelen
   
     
 
peripateia: a note on the method

   I walk
      an hour each week
   with the rusting town

   the barnacle
       and its spate of sea

   the skin is dark with dreaming
   and the sky is always blank

   can I smell this pencil
   making a spectacle?

   I have the mechanism apart in my hands
   in order to deprive it of sense
   in order to dampen infernal ticking

   each tatoo
        is a fleet of voyages
   its brave limbs
      labour deck for tide
   all in the big book noted

   ashore I am
   as stray shipping come

   stumped in conclusion of all the sea’s said

   become part of the wall, part of the paper

   the seasons have their streets in this

   a doorway painted red
   or birds raucous

   streets don’t spring up
   they are worn down to this
   each ends in harbour, mast, grimy moon

   the world is a wedding
   of waters, of salt

   my work the unfitting of pieces

   I walk

 


Back   Next