cross the wet city to leave some copies of micromacro at the dark

horsey          growing from the grating framed in red brick and

aluminium is a 3D cloud blancmange sculpture it could be an

installation in detergent for the experimental art foundation growing

bursting      now tumescent        now diminishing        some

pieces breaking off whipped up into sky

ken bolton says it happens all the time dishwashing water roadgrime

& surfactants agitated by stormwater regurgitated back up the grille.

no point leaving more than three books. no-one's buying poetry.

perhaps one or two might go (to disappear into shelves or drawers

without a trace?)

on the way out a clot of suds sucked skywards in a thermal

insignificant as poetry to be dispersed into a wider universe like so

much puffery.