Binaries / About Beyonce

1 October 2015

This version of Microsoft doesn’t Beyonce
and that’s a fault of the computer and of
myself, sitting under drapes of wet clothes before bed.
The opposite of TV
is when it’s switched off.

I want to tell you about my dreams but they’re not very imaginative.

i.e.
having a fever / I dream I run late
or we share a bed /
and I dream about our arms.

Here you are: apologising to a white spider
finding it-self, outside a window
one hour before bed.
‘Sorry human perception-’
something Nagel said.

Roll over, wait for an interesting dream.

No two clocks
say the same thing, (flicker-
ing eyes of a TV-movie screen-)
assign a silent kind of depravity
one unanimous minute/ (life is but a dream)

A certain catch of daylight dress
unintended, underneath a bedspread
muggy and apologetic,
I looked up the word visceral;
meant the total opposite.

Movement
in the car you say, men create maps,
get lost-
women look for patterns/ this is non-spatial/
a success.

Morning
I am surprised this windows works.
If you blow on a thing with flyscreen lips
it stings and it will go away.

Collect a semblance,
turning up as a bat
while in waking you walk, your monkey-brain
out evolving itself.

The wake and tuck, scene at a library:
black-fingered undies into hips
Can you watch this-

I never took a lone gunman
seriously.

‘Well if this were a long, long car ride I’d be asleep’
lean into a window, and don’t play Beyonce
It says I like you for
dream terrorism

Fall asleep at the wheel
a hairdresser’s chair and then-
you are Beyonce or you are not
and one of us can’t take good images
pretty much useless.


Holly Childs remixes this poem for The Lifted Brow portion of this issue.

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