Monthly Archives: August 2011

The Hothouse – in entirity

1.
The heat in here stays constant, netted

kept unmoving billowed weighed down

down everything all the leaves to

lethargic rubbered limbs and I can only

ascertain who comes or goes by read-

-ing the peaks in this dim but varied

show of slanting white-wet lights

2.

wraught iron, corridor
this swollen, lead crystal-
-ised sweat rises and
congregates in old fields

obese lungs, panting.
A stamen paralyzes my

hacking of mists, some-
where, damp leaves
a shattering.

3.

Given the chance
residue will fall upwards, hitting
heavy undersides, tendril twisting
occurs, just

planned – all rise, this yeast of eden.
Something like a parasite in these
updrafts. Sweat rises. Beads

form, direction, forms
direction is given (make no mistake)
Girls

raise their heads, face blown glass.
Occasions, sweat sticks
perspiration will drop and
these guidelines refuse removal –
bamboo is more than

structure spreading legs
splayed deeper

green – scaffolds hold bits in
parts are kept pushed out.
Trying to look for roots this high
in this constant fuming

a fruitless exercise.
Trying to look, is also.

4.

So, We grow inside houses.
So, it may be easier
to find us – look inside
there’s a space where you can see
a battle with the urge
to simply orbit one another
swinging around a larger mass
we haven’t found a word for
yet the days drop off
and we spend one moment
seeking ways to wound
and the next lost in grasses with
blades splitting skies, and these
useless links are what birth us
and ensure we never really move

5.

You talked of gloved hands: you claim to not
see where the climbers stretch to, only spaces:
the leaves are powder. Distance swells, unorganic

beating through the lead-lined frames: afterthoughts
assume your shape: you remember that before we burst
husks: there was a minute when we were not

6.

What happened here?
the window lining pulled away – just
an inch, curves allowing
different airs

to penetrate
the sticky mass, the bulb
heaving with humidity

so all clamour to the splitting
that grows out from the glass –
the vapour’s fit for breathing

the vapour’s fit for breathing
though fast closed up again:
enthusiasm soon resembles

panic: grassy hysteria gums
and tramples underfoot while

spring passes by outside
as we knew it would.

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