Belinda Rule



Ekphrasis: Bill Henson, Untitled 128/13, 1985/86, type C colour photograph

The way a lighted late sky over suburbs causes pain in the body occurs despite its being nothing to do with us, just light and a particular density of gas. Like God it is unphotographable. The hurtling empire of cars, …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

The slow clock

In a gully we found it: hash of fallen trunks like the ribs of some great beast. But we were too old for it, too big to squeeze within and too prissy, afraid of the doings of ants and unknown …

Posted in 92: NO THEME VIII | Tagged

The End of Men

The man on the train the Maths 142 exam at the Showgrounds. He had used a Reject Shop catalogue to form a little tent. The man at night at the end of my street – tall, pale, forties, blue shirt, …

Posted in 84: SUBURBIA | Tagged

On Waking with the Pain

Now in the night I wake to it: plucking of a cello string, low hoot of wind in a deep cave, song of wrongness sounding, sounding. The hand is unmarred to look at, paragon of itself, sweet in sleep as …

Posted in 68: NO THEME IV | Tagged

Curator

I am trying to throw things away. Say, these two cups, his always green, mine always blue, in the long dark the two of us, me stacked inside him, or him stacked inside me. I fear they’d shatter now on …

Posted in 66: OBSOLETE | Tagged

Gestalt with Seagulls

Late at night, in the rain I drove to the end of the quay, past the frosted lights of the refinery, its single outlet flame streaming in the wind like a pennant. Between the hulking dark of the shipbuilders and …

Posted in 56: NO THEME II | Tagged