Posts tagged ‘senses’

17/08/2013

Object No.4 – Pot of Basil

 

An ordinary world of light,

A luminescent line in time,

I’d walk along and breathe along,

And perhaps forget to look and know.

 

Forget to hear the questions posed,

Forget to smell the basil plants,

Forget my time perhaps would end:

So sad I’d leave those things unsaid.

 

Around that pot pasts might adhere.

All through the room of light so strong,

A trace was strong, a life was long,

An ordinary world was lost.

 

The basil scent would linger here,

You’d sense my echoes through your fear.

 

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23/06/2013

Peripheral Vision (Turrell Light)

 

The dark absorbs all sense of self.

A draining whole, negating space.

I stand and stare, alone and small,

A mind as lost as light itself.

 

There is no movement, nothing drifts,

The echoes of the first and last.

As flux eternal overwhelms,

The grip on truth disintegrates.

 

On truth: on what was built as such.

These fragments dazzled by our words,

These hopes and histories which choke.

That truth, that fraud, collapses in.

 

And I am left: a tiny thing,

A light in light, a flame in flames.

 

 

14/05/2013

Hyperacusis (II)

 

Within the plastic twists and shifts

Of spectra split from screech to hum,

Unravelled sounds of empty rooms

Are splayed across our emerald selves.

 

The waterfall of pressure waves,

Cascading foam, neuronal sweeps,

Are rushed back through the feedback loops

And pour again with greater force.

 

The energy of the air unleashed,

And time again yet more release:

The sapphire bands, the ruby wreaths.

 

The vicious proof of life made raw,

Through light, through sound, through screams:

With at the end a gasping mind.

 

 

12/05/2013

Hyperacusis (I)

 

The opposite of deaf is deaf.

 

The screeching spines inside your head,

The spiral labyrinth of drills,

Igniting spikes of sound and pain.

 

The lances pierce your amygdala.

Your lizard mind lies whining back.

The neurone contours spit and flail.

 

The opposite of deaf is deaf

 

At night the echo pins are pricked

To vent the agonies of angels

Through the diamond points of scars.

 

And every slightest scratch sets off

A pulse of blood to silence words.

When deaf the noises never stop.