Suddenly the phenomena of dust are back on the agenda
biblical and moral dust, destination dust, fate dust
as the syrup–sarcophagus of an Indian summer springs
apart in our hands, and the control tools of words
put on hold the world

          when
          a nasturtium-orange square is in the box
(if the box is sight)
          a quotation from Shakespeare is in the box
          (so quick bright things come to confusion)
          an element (say raw, aroused sulphur) is in the box
          a wasp is in the box
          a light modernist building is in the box and
(if the box is mind)
          a fox is in the box, quick and brown
          the word ‘in' is in the box
          I am in the box reached for by my own hands
          when
          sight is in mind
          and the doll of your moment is laid down

to rest
(the china-smooth face and the eerie stillness of expression)
among the phenomena of dust and a mislaid agenda

The lazy dog is in Sabon and is real (close to the apple)
The lazy dog is in Goudy and is real (hold me)
The lazy Helvetican dog dozes for days and for days (hold me, I love you)
That lazy Perpetua dog! That lazy sans serif dog!

The storied corpuscles of your touch and the dazzling ash of your gesture
and the roulette of the way you move the day's frosty revolver
summer's empty chambers and one white bullet of snow
brings us the moment but we don't remember
(bark little dog! bark! bark! bark! bark!)

The space that never was before the book began
haunted me and the golden pagoda gleamed in hazy Thai sunshine
The temples stunk of cat-shit and incense
and this music passed by me upon the waters
The mirror was a cheap thriller and a shot rang out
and in a space of foxes the missing entered shinbones and wrinkles
and in one single kiss all our flesh was grazed
The anecdote was Caesar and triumph, cinnabar and lemons
The space of the reporter was quickly filled
The river burned the stars in effigy
but you never touched me again
(bark little dog! bark! bark! bark! bark!)

Seven years bad luck and the beautiful trajectory of your smile
the way I stroked your arm on the long drive to Broken Edge
where the private eye Johnny Veneziano lived at 45 Platinum Boulevard
while at 54 Plutonium Boulevard his dreamdouble
Joey Veneziano awoke whenever Johnny slept
Someone smashed the solid river of those stars
and that night we laboured under bad signs
in the Universe of One Meaning and the Dynasty of Dice
drank formal potions and were unconscious for hours
(bark little dog! bark! bark! bark! bark!)

To be cold is to know, it seemed, and I was far from my warlike home
My ghostwritten goosebumped flesh like the light on the water
trembled and for a moment I believed I would love again
and that anything could hurt me and that would be true
but his back ached as he worked on the transmission of his rusting Gemini
and like hatched turtles baby theories crawled upon the sand and died
while a meltwater Koran wrote itself out in snow
in the lurid red beam of my Captain's raygun

At last the little dog barked but one of the Sacred Plots was over
On Strontium Avenue Joey Veneziano pulled in for gas
on Chloride Street Johnny Veneziano kissed his lover goodbye
We had bought in to the whole boxed set of meaning
and the engine of Johnny's Chrysler Venus coupe throbbed and droned
like water endlessly going over a deserted weir

Meaning was gentle with me that day I felt so tender
I knew there would be no resumé no 'And so' no 'At last'
We circulated the gallery the ramps steel railings matt grey walls
The subjects of the paintings couldn't be made out precisely
the scenes were molten and cryptic, neo and blurred
so that flamingo wing flesh seemed to fuse angels with oranges
and Suggestion was everywhere like a magnetic star-sign
or the fairground of a remembered pleasure
and the breathtaking orchid skies
of adolescent eyes on the edge of tears

 

The leaving is endless Is the leaving endless? Is leaving endless?
Is the endlessly leaving endless leaving
of our touch our love strong enough is it strong is it enough
capable like the simple rails of the train that took us home
is such endless leaving home is it like home endlessly home
like the rails and their geometric beauty
like them their only function to bear
Is your word strong is it home endlessly strong and leaving
bearing like the rails the train
and the faces in the train above the rails being blown away
like petals in a sudden breeze can we bear it

home?

Come children, let us shut up the box and the puppets
for our play is played out

Copyright © Michael Ayres, 2003.