Issue 18: Dominic Hale
The Deep End
1
New June is booting
up. Accessible
wind tries somewhere
in the county, and we
will not the sum of
our parts. Jolted
in the public
library; there may
must be these
days a value in the
clear-cut eloquence. A
logjam, reedy planes
of stalemate. If
essential maintenance has
been rescheduled,
borealis stripping
the willow. And the
schoolkids in
armbands. I vent,
and we hope
less on the bag
for life, redecorated
rhyme. A puncture in
the meantime. I couldn’t
remember what
to make of
steady sound, reposing
brassy housing,
footage in the back
pocket. A sliver of
mends, alternative
fact. The junkmail
approaches the electable
peak, plateauing,
throwing paint at what
I was. And after
that. Please guarantee
our invite to the event
horizon, out of stock
and tufts into a
plangent sigh; a joy
to moisturise chapped roads,
patterning across a bit
of memory. Agreed,
the landscape
is obviously so
coded. Green the
Apennines, the access
pipeline, the wishful
lyric stitch. Larks,
attires. Immiserated
fibre in a drawer, of
capital. So stoked unto
abundant changes
in the wide,
summery margin:
in this careers a
future, strayed
possibility, and a few
showers heading over
to the north-east.
Summative, wear the
frilly seasons, aspartame
saved to drafts, prescribing
upshots fluting. Next
week flutters
in the grate. And hails
immanent the defence
communication, low
approval loan or
levelling. Always the
synthetic coat put
on, acceptance of
the sun-dried
chipping the
breezeblocks. Monosodium
Leda, a wing
clip and the Airbus
scuppers the brink
of the map,
the accidental
vectors of deletion.
It is the terminus
of the conspiracy;
open-minded, ejecting
the material bygone.
An equivalent of
skyscrapers, brutal
with dawns; thus
supreme white
rush, marched
departments upcoming
night sky mown
unreservedly, flyting
with the wind chimes. We
add expectancy to
cart. Again the traffic
lights that skim and
shall assume, full
merit of blue noons.
2
Come now that the servers
are down, stealing a look
at the plants in all their damaged
specificity, the scam
of recipient pastures, held
in open hand. Such
sweet endurance, for a
microclimate. And performance
targets glister in the
skillet, televised
the incubated crèche. Yet
glamour taps management
assorted diesel, NHS shrunk
bordering a track
of stroked fortune. Executive
order, and the veneer
of forthcoming music reacts
to warm Pentlands,
pharmaceuticals, the manual
belt of cloud. And swimmingly the
afternoon rests, else
altogether paces
laterally the downy rhyme;
the reasonable
applies; acclimatise to
melatonin, gin and
lime, memory braid
of making good. Clutch
the armature of
personnel, consequent
in taxi ranks way
out dereliction. Move me
along. And Friday
presidential, our
correspondent borne
overtime by the forum,
Microsoft spurious nucleics
of the rolling, manmade
again. Flicked yes, the
lightest pages of
your hardback. Came great
impartial rafters, semilunar
freeway bustle; people
backlog, take to
suffer or disinterest. Some
pathetic marbling. How,
moreover, to go
on. Redress the
wish to keep
riveted, sequence of our
dial day. Measuring
the frosty theme,
sweet customer. Because
it might uphold
the variance. Defiant
as a tacit grey lake,
over-shone by weekend
weather. Click
contours of a
symbiotic chance,
repeal my
potential. It isn’t
plausible to stride wholly
on the antique
face of the
earth, love’s luminous
downturn. The head
falls off the news
as the tranquiliser,
whether stale
air injects some
necessary common. Well no
and tomorrow, insofar
as the sidereal
veers, into a
thinkable queue.
The News
Downright you stroll
wholly off the fringe of the
meadows, dreamily broadcasting
apathetic frequencies of
traffic, and gather
the faults, the hot
paradox, the lighter rush hour
courtesies in variegated mid-air.
A stint of hurried
air and minutes talking
down the public truth,
tapping into the search bar
transcripts of our
palatable sort of
self. The fretting day.
The day’s donation of a
light blue sky. A sweep with such
proclivity, a graceful frame for
doubt. What’s frantic why
too, thanks. Adduce a sleight
of thoroughgoing. How yet
so garnishing the sorry means
apiece, a fresh procession, network
nightly into drivel. It’s
about affording better
vantage on the great widespread,
matter-of-fact pragmatic, venture
still it’s intimacy. And you populate
conjecture, actually, and the medicated
sky polite and clouding up in nearly
love. And please. And hence. And
hence expanse. And how
the deep well-meaning
draught could occupy a rarer
maybe, scaling all unsuitable results
and kisses quite across
this doubly share of town.
Dominic Hale grew up in Blackpool but now lives in Edinburgh, where he’s reading and researching William Wordsworth and several late modernist poets.
