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A Sudden Wind The sprig, rigged by the wind with nerve endings, frights as a blackbird takes flight suddenly – a word the poet notes was the poet’s favourite, now dumb on the un-thumbed page, as fire rages in the library, devouring paper. A downdraught dislodges a bird trapped in the flue; falling suddenly on the charcoaled heap: dried twigs, orange pips, an old nest. Suddenly’s animus not an ill wind; a bellow for life – bellows filling with rage at an age of snuffed lights, the breath rattle in the throat, and not a candle held, but a blackbird suddenly may chase a kite. 94
page 105
A Heart Pumps in Service If I were to ask you to take the heat out of your heart, you would be left with r, Law of Laplace, where r is the radius, which has something to do with blood flow and the relationship between pressure and tension within a sphere. Friend, I know your heart hurts, burns less fiercely than it did before, but my orange material mouth, tapestry tongue are flammable, which is why I persist with the physics of this. If I were to ask you to take the art out of your heart, you would be left with he, that male one who is neither speaker nor hearer, but dominates generic conversation – listens out to block, if she tries to interpose. Friend, I know your heart hurts, pumps less easily than it did before, but my pink material mouth, tapestry tongue are manufactured, which is why I persist with the politics of this. If I were to ask you to take the ear out of your heart, you would be left with h-t, short for handheld transceiver which sounds like a heart in hand, originally intended for military use. only letting one lub-DUB talk at a time. 95

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A Sudden Wind

The sprig, rigged by the wind with nerve endings, frights as a blackbird takes flight suddenly – a word the poet notes was the poet’s favourite, now dumb on the un-thumbed page, as fire rages in the library, devouring paper. A downdraught dislodges a bird trapped in the flue; falling suddenly on the charcoaled heap: dried twigs, orange pips, an old nest. Suddenly’s animus not an ill wind; a bellow for life – bellows filling with rage at an age of snuffed lights, the breath rattle in the throat, and not a candle held, but a blackbird suddenly may chase a kite.

94

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