Emeritus, older than fortune, older than tomorrow
Before faith
Deity
Columbine, twisted contortion, further than forever
Beyond hope
Sight
Kingdom of creation, taste of red wine, blue blood
Always with or without
Divinity
Beauties, moods, bittersweet emotions
Exiled by the hostility, lately
Of doubt or light
Trapeze, wired to the sky
Sinusoidal over the still void that lies below
Skip so dainty, faint lines
Muslin curtains
Hitch a ride swinging so
Go gentle to and fro
Downalong to the strains of string guitars
And the outdoor rhythms of the pavement splashing sedans
Deserts and torpedoes
Cauliflower and rice
Children's toys inflected
Projected film
Spines to splice; sliced, laced
Traced in ever finer lines
Mains braced in suspension
Common kindness
On the boundaries of comprehension
Passed the treacheries, beyond the tension
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1953
It is Coronation Way
The Queen at Crossley carpets
Parties in the street
Flyovers not yet built or flown over
I cannot get near you
Too many shoddy words stand in the way
I can hardly hear you
Too much history shuttles through these buildings
You or I
Not then a flicker in our mother's looms
Try now to make our own way
Selling
By telling still
Someone else's worsted and woven story
Start somehow at the edge of the page
No margin, no header, no run out
Be short on placement
And in the equation, the recipe
Is it three fifths canvas
Two tenths ideas
Twenty per cent the fool
Plus a margin for the fabrication
Start somehow not at the first thought
The proposition more like
Maybe at night
Under neon
Glue, paste, collage…run out
With jazz at play in the background
Sinking a glass of vodka martini
With the actuaries
Or with the underwriters
Glass enamel is the jeweller's tool, paper more the paupers fool
The gang of four or the curate's egg
Layered, with an icing gun
Erratic the Delineate artist from kingdom come
I beg to know more
What tore pray tell me; flowers, hearts
Carrion in wheelbarrows, that dart across the cobbled narrows
Pray tell me, I'm easily led
A continuous scrawl, never to be set free, unconditional rage
Art becoming to be
Did you kiss the shopping list? I do it myself when writing
The stubble gum drags me back on dull days fighting
A final part to your jigsaw
Drips me back, zips the wings that try
The torn shadow overlaps the dust jacket's fly
No one to know before the show
Be ready by eight they said
Champagne instead with cocktails strewn
For tonight Delineate renews the looms
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