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marina

1
they ride in sky the face of
a metal fringe kissing swell
deep role of climate heat
slide polished by ranges
of fancy morning finger

2
there is a crane, they insist, & a
light on the hill, & the water
rising in, there is a crane, so you
look for the light, they insist on
the water rising in, you the light,
& the crane, they insist on the
water, you see the crane, & the
light, they insist on the water

(you see the crane, they insist you
see the light & the water rising)

they insist on phrases & speech like,
lay your petals on the blossom
of the sea

                                                                    or,
we saw her beautiful like a barque,
sliding in

                                                                    or,
only balsa is varnished & stable,
from one year to the next

                                                                    or,
she descended like water hung
from the hills, mother bliss on the
face of the future

(you look for the light, & the water)

3
later you sit & you creep & pen the
hymn for the windows above the town
giving their lights down into the sea
riding the swell & the rising heat

 

 

 

 

cloud castle

vatic you sultry mushroom head
down dip dance the pixels green,
cut tacitly angle-faced creeps
w/ big sticky plans, coded &
pulsing level-up bounce a box
now. basta boy, what a round
face like a cherry
                                     ragey on the
embarcadero, its something hot
new sentinel shot, the goons
beat the loop high to glory in
candy hat : all prizes for the
forest world
                          link up modern
fun socket tellingly jacked a
music eyebloom, down the wires,
flurry rascal in peaks & the
impossible unreal dragon kick

 

 

 

 

lamplines

a kingdom of souls is in the flag,
manna from heaven. tell us all again:
proximity covers nothing distance
eating the sands of something lonely
like loneliness, or sanctity, or just
white dress flutters over the sea.

dammi un’occhiata
, & see
spectral red released to me,
slim lovely redness oh
gape cat-like at the crease
without the talent or being
bare upon the massif

the seaward blue film now catches us
exploring americans. now the palms
around this our still & honeyed
night, hot too long to flick away.
so darling blue into the glass, &
time, in continual ferry motion.

 

 

 

 

heavy crane (antwerp)

is suddenly present, being
blasted wide through abstract
(geometric) labour, sings
the hymn of a dead steel
we compose to, raising
productive onto the new
horizon & longing, lost
for the blue, a ready thing
it is & shall be worked upon

 

 


 

 

 

[Cal Revely-Calder is, among other things, a contributing editor at both minor literature[s] and the Cambridge Humanities Review. He lives outside London.]

 
Copyright © 2017 by Cal Revely-Calder, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.



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