Owen Bullock

 

 

1

 

detoured

you negotiate lips

to open

 

earth knits itself

in the next possibility

paused at a wheel

 

in summary time

cones are more common

than spheres

 

you leave out a page

triangulated

 

alleyways have mercy

on the human condition

 

a child stares

perhaps noticing

a pigeon feather

 

what is there

except the bass on the street

men and women

causeways to oblivions

 

children are ready to be

told what to do for the day

they owe each other

someone owes them

 

sights are digital

the night is gone

wheels a revolution

you can’t escape

 

 

2

 

another hope

lurks at the gallery

a homeless man

in a cardboard box

they lodged him there

begging for money

 

*

 

rainbows insulated

in each dimension

 

materials condensed

onto the floor

pattern worked out

 

walls bulging flat

are they walls?

 

the ceiling sealing

windows fallen

into the out

 

the door opened one time

too many

without a knock

 

carpets lifted

un-laid, over-laid

 

the room suspended

in a vacuum

 

you are

in here

 

 

3

 

when balanced

by injunctions

beleaguered by epistemé

known by name

 

when carved in oak

made to plastic some trees

 

when tread by feel

to vintage

 

given a bag

re-usable

re-formable

 

into the hot

re-melting asphalt

 

piled loosely

in the morning

from the word before

 

when it’s fingered like a book

marked as study

 

when it’s empty

like the glass beside the bed

 

reduced to change

under the mattress

 

it might be

acceptable to you