The path rock-infested,
Toe curling levels of traction.
I had been a pillowcase of myself.
I enjoy reading the Bible.
I like simply cooked meals and socks
With holes in.
All of the flies on my windowsill pay rent.
Warm tarmac is good for beginnings; clumsiness even better.
I like messing around with the wires that
Connect items of Hi-Fi equipment:
Plugging and unplugging, inputs and outputs.
I’m nearly always unsuccessful in any attempts
To choreograph noise.
My wardrobe also contains empty boxes,
Not as many as I had thought, though,
Having now checked.
Recognising the limits of hand-eye coordination
Especially now tactility has been postponed.
One of the relics I have kept from childhood is a physical position:
The creation of an untouching, interlocking two link chain,
Formed of thumbs and forefingers, used to test how long it ever takes before
My trust in space buckles, which it always does.
I like the fact that ice floats on water even though it shouldn’t.
I like it the same way that I like audibly
Snappable twigs and the way in which
The rocks path-infested,
Requiring respect in action.
Out of train windows,
Unused parallel tracks all
End and begin by
Trying to keep up.