The face of my arms
But the past forms so naturally.
an overrun of trees, thick spirals of branches
assembled in the centre of the paddock
the silence disappears
or like a periphery of abstractions
a mind walks across the body in the farmland's clearing
sits down, the body a landscape torn open
widening into distance
coordinates of wind
dream beneath my eyes
feels dark out here alone
already so full of hysteria
start with my arms
protruding veins of crumbled tissue
deadening the nerve ends
searching up and down
not for an image but an emptiness
the perpetual change stuns
risking yourself
in transfusions of a feeble red line
the point of beginning.
But the past forms so naturally.
an overrun of trees, thick spirals of branches
assembled in the centre of the paddock
the silence disappears
or like a periphery of abstractions
a mind walks across the body in the farmland's clearing
sits down, the body a landscape torn open
widening into distance
coordinates of wind
dream beneath my eyes
feels dark out here alone
already so full of hysteria
start with my arms
protruding veins of crumbled tissue
deadening the nerve ends
searching up and down
not for an image but an emptiness
the perpetual change stuns
risking yourself
in transfusions of a feeble red line
the point of beginning.
- Robbie Coburn 2014
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