And so I think about the corset. As a conveyor of metaphor, it’s a powerful object, for me. I’m interested in structure, in organisation, in taxonomy, in classification, in order and containment, in safety and protection, in the harbour from the storm, in locking that shit down.
It was gone for too long … not for me because I only really care as a byproduct of my son caring … but gone for too long for my hockey-mad boy. The hockey strike is over now tho’ and the shortened season is better than no season at all, you can be sure of that.
So many boats in my dreams, this last while. Boats and boats and then again boats. I like boats, always have (particularly those powered by muscle not motor), maybe as the result of having for a father a man who in his youth was a sailor or maybe as the result of my Piscean nature.
After the Alphabets
I am trying to decipher the language of insects
they are the tongues of the future
when twilight grass looks the way velvet feels or the way warm smooth metal can seem in a dream
when you sit outside in a day that’s almost night and the fireflies arrive
all the other places you never know in daylight open out to you
there in the glow