Issue 25: Mark Dickinson
A tiny Patriot wrestled a Crow and called it “decisive ecology”. The Patriot was deeply prehistoric. The Crow a dark bird but quietly handsome. The word microscopic. Perhaps the sentimental retina is attached for a reason. The greatly reduced parasite is quiet & the depth pragmatic with time; a wake in a paradise of soft paralysis, sulking & teeming between a plush of white. My black umbrella is a dark bird hung from a dark bough. Stalking the wet shadow leaning on another dark. Risk in this instance is an uneasy space that's a faltering peon of unnecessary emptiness. The elegy, a dark bird with a world in it.
Sweet tender loin, vegetable waste and all the meaty anuses caressing the hesitant; twisting glitter into the past of the mobile onyx frame-packed carburettor.
Singing of the solenoid & the ventricles of dystrophy – hearing the phantom of poly-vinyl acetate and the espionage I openly eject.
Out in the open the idylls of terror, the calm crush of flint bone severing secrets from suburbs sleepy hollows where dreams alight to vacancies of love.
The window ajar the ear slot deadening smokey eclipse
of lap sing deep, the idols of paucity conjuring rudiments in silent bellows.
Below the mist & moon, the discard of experience heavy with disappearance, “just the little things” drifting into nebulas of silence.
Mark Dickinson lives in Orkney and works as a community gardener. His second collection, Networks, is forthcoming from Shearsman.
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