Pete Spence

Anne Cessna.

Anchored to the air a
Nuance clearly wired
Now forever afterwards
Enters the skin of a hill

Clatters as water does
Escaping a No Vacancy
Sign lit up in bright
Sounds high in the dark
Narrative parading by
Arrival's bronze applause

Étude Seizure.

étude seizure? a Villon
is at the gates singing
while some elephants
are on a skiing holiday
in the alps meanwhile
in Mauritius the gazebos
bivouac in the swelter
the vocalese of a swift
hinterland echoes
through the hills pouring
the scorn of scoria on
the odour of puritans
Breugel steps out for
some fresh air but
its the wrong painting
he is in the signature
in the corner reads
Grandma Moses!


a little clamour
shatters against the wall
for having jumped
too far this leap year!

here! take more rebound
it is sensitive to parachutes
falls upon them like static
flies over them like iron

placebo señor? flat white
ribboning out across
the valley? admit one!
zoo panic! little tremors!

the days are growing
noisily a just hustle
seasoned take 2 after
lunch! and further more!

tame habit the chemist
keeps fainting on the
landing strip its an overt
leap year! like an aero

dynamic pill dropped
into an effervescent lake
a school of fish leap
in medicated dismay!

Daylight Takes Leave of its Senses.

right now i'm wondering who emptied the landscape!
not even a scrap of paper eager to be taken up by the wind
and the wind having nothing to do is off throwing a tantrum
in some distant overdone site like Soutine's disgruntled hair
floating across the vague toned sky desperately whispering
"please add colour" to the almost seethrough hills where
some confused birds circle indecision as everything sinks
into the tarpits with yesterdays news while a radio at home
with its static vends endless codas a washed out La Mer
trickles through the air some crustaceans waddle past
looking for mud stepping over a ridge of discarded clocks
time goes sideways for a moment abuts into a mess of rotting
clouds left over from last winter's excess flowing out over
a gathering cheer squad's tambourine gestures afloat
with the deckchairs valises carrion and leftover panic
distilled upon the earth's terracotta surface "just add water"
even the mud likes this while daylight takes leave of its
senses saturated by a fetish for accommodation

Pete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit. He is currently retired from work but not from any of the above.
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