Issue 18: Dominic Hale

The Deep End


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.            


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.