Dunedin and Around

By | 27 June 2005


The light will let you know
that you are really here.

You will appear,
both to yourself and your companion

as bones, glowing in an x-ray,
or teeth, exposed in a dark mouth.


You will shed two dimensions
and unfurl,

like ink in infinite water.

Thoughts may turn to helium,
or the clouds.

Hearts tend to respond by lifting;
so many red balloons.


Proud shapes step in,
control the situation.

Be careful not to cut yourself
on corners.

Sleep comes quick as a knife.


Further on, you may notice eels,
being fed blancmange

by an old woman.

Generations of fangs
have known the lightness

of her recipe,
a lesson in antonyms.


Photographs are best
viewed in the negative.

Light still fascinates
at the edges.

Scooped-out versions revolve,
like looted display cases.

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