James Mc Laughlin

. ..Clevering a metaphor ‘

   it try just onewaythenthe. Excoriated dye.
‘Remain. ‘Do you really think
Word sto p. Suffix my tent’’’
   ‘ only - \
and what reamains. (Grass my red bush
too experimenta’l the cat    sat on ony
try saying nothing in a No Than’ks
Jump to it! Down and elevator
   shaft – hemroid
a verb with late
          x glu-e-ing
polaz a yellow baize game notouslyinged
t horses too and abstract as a verb
a keen word
my heart this past week has been keeped
                                         the mollification not
                                                                       a plac                e to
      Or then all this and then some I expecte
my fascination like or as
oh give me another whence
whip me a gar
slide down the pipe de rig
full stop a (go’)


A pastiche of everything. Pale. Powder. Yellow drip. Blue. We need to renew. Sap twigs pushing. Anorak zip noise. Take it somewhere. Uplift — sensual intermingling. Joy. Sight. Dispersal of rayon. Curvatures of imagination. A pastiche of everything. Swirl lift. Something to do with friction. Flavour colour. A tang of rind. Strawberry sent. An emulsion of vapours. Inhalation of remorse. Signatures of disclosure. What can it be about. Though it is before us. De-construction. Does it run in straight lines. Does it have and index for memory. A thesaurus of disdain. Does it have a ready reckoner to collate joy. Does it flit from thing to thing. From nano to nano, from molecule to molecule — from love sonnet to ink spot. From Saturn to Sundail. Does it meander like a drunk, booming. And can it STOP. I know it can. Justified, aligned, margined, put into blank verse, binded and bound, hooded, controlled. Or can it — like the wind — move unseen through the trees and clouds. Can it transpose matter set its phaser to stun. Are there tiny nuclear fusions that bust into colour and shape. Electrodes buzzing through a billion receptors and unknown liquids. Disseminating into a million spirits and ambitions? Darting like an egg brain under lamps. A thing of wonder. A magical abstract. A spin painting that exploded at the graveside. A fart in the chapel of contrition. Take to the air. Jump from the elevator shaft. Over the cliff like a bird in advance. Digitise my remains please.

James Mc Laughlin From Dumbarton Scotland. Educated as a mature student at University of Glasgow 2003: with an MA in English Literature and Scottish History. Published in 'Stride' 'Great Works' 'Nth Position' 'Blackbox Manifold' etc. Loves all things abstract be it painting poetry literature or whatever.

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