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.
