to force these intensities to a shape, to burst
or dilate. Body without cause, so detailed, so collate
and threaded, you find yourself together making verbal patterns,
visual attachments, which you can't unless willing
an escape. If you compere, all concepts can be made concrete,
released suddenly, a movement in commonplace, maybe over
your head. Like I've been searching suddenly all over
for justification. Dicing through bends in the time.
It's suddenly a wall of laughter - warping occasion
on a determined faultline. Or, we are all attached
anyway. Not the same as attack. Bent on understanding,
see? And it will curve us as we lean it out. The response
which was so automated, so confused, is more like
keeping up chance, smirched now in the
temperature of the room. High order, it was heady
lately. You had to be there to experience. And even though
one left early, odd throbbing away, ready to hatch.
And though you lay your ear very close to the side of it,
which side have you taken? Responsive or servile?
Others' needs don't curb in the zone used to blast
others' intentions for. Can it be generous while qualifying
embrace? The area is warm where thought pounds on it,
day after day, bending pale green shade afterwards.
That's unclear. Or maybe the eye which makes light of or sense anyway
from this world
attempt. Launch it
Always approach with
The topic is
There has been
When we expect
always end up
Some of us after the opening.
Some want confirm or reason denial.
Reason it myths on
in new tongues
or new ear pieces.
I had meant to tell you the meaning,
a new slight, licking
But it dreamt up this
surface, clung to it
(I'd never meant
& hit on,
In our outgoings
Not lacking but
what came of it
Who handles one over thegap & thecrash?
When it's all over, cut from it & grab wilting over
some warm desire - metal - the wish of.
salt cuticle draped
from an edging. Nobody's inched along perfect.
Behind thepowerfulwreck, just your
soft outline bruised hedged -
in dripped formatting. Not least before, but that was
-a shame not to
kiss it goodbye.
important wait on at the
EYES up - reddened on
both sides before the rise.
Could've told one as good as new.
Could've stuck to thesideline. Like reliefs -
marbled in signia - swan's nests on mini oceans.
faltering & spitting,
one time out of ten
will there actually do something.
Others, smell it, theFEAR.
Warm engines pump outtheir love
of the ether.
What cry, what matters gathering hurt to itself?
No, waste drips all over
every one is
, of no fault
but their own.
Ambitiousmeldings gathered & raised
to allbut the last purpose.
HAMBURGER LANDING (sung to the tune of Goodbye Lenin)
It's a homology, honest.
Scratching the surface aesthetics -
i'm for this TOTAL then-nature -
i'm for grappling always, not raising potentiates.
Thinking it over, specifically NOT reading enclosure,
intended technologizations -
having this sped-out-&-stretched-over-brutalized-culture.
Pouring off line-endings - we talked in the meanings of Java.
i'm for flagellating the i's off centralised wording mechanisms -
One line too many & it's all corrupted.
Conscripting party sensitives, somewhat quiet about
Order: a U.S. rare beef steak to go -
Don't allow those influences into your homes. Yet the animal magnetism
- radiates into the cracks,
- gets in everywhere!
Who crept under the microfoil. It's something other than -
large blockades of information. There's a recent buzzing, it happens ALL THE TIME.
Maybe i'll cadge a liftif you offer.
into the soda stream
of your love
Having someone appointed to talk about- except all that screaming around 2 a.m. You show up to the house
choking on your own conformism.
It's the wording at those things whores my imagination.
Minutes around notes deaden further into the cracks.
Where were you outside McDonald's in the vision anyway?
Make your surrender quiet in the former airbag, where you'rea hologram. Note having met you before relapse, but never quite after performance.
Can't it absorb fallout from the
song-&-dance routine agony columns…
Doesn't it come - two for one - with a cut-out, a face like Lavinia
It's a monotony, sometimes. But then inculcates into -
somebody else at the side-show department.
Going to blow this subtext if you don't FOR ME ridiculous sublimate details.
That sliding in almost-assurance, which said increments frustrate over
a certain hatchet job, lets call it (convenient) D.I.Y.
Impossible figures, not a word now about dictate origins.
How many questions to go, i have none, except in my head.
i want to be outlawed from culture when I grow up.
Having the recent primary aims to be happy is all i care about.
OR, money's a cruel aggregate.
Waiting to plug their fantasy headlines into a whole.
WHEN EXPECTATION RELINQUISHES UNDERNEATH ITSELF
in concentric myth-lines. Formal the plot -
not deleteriousness. You expect forward motion.
To act - not just in a field - but over a field. In it,
heading out, spreading. Plotting one's course
beside familiars. Perhaps rendered, getting a taxi
There in reversible relation
are more fields - consciousness permits. Grounds for ill-feeling,
due to closeness. The heroine of a book mirroring a complex
(is disconcerting)! You're due certain erasures,
and for courage read luck.
Untold properties push you outward. Messages will not bear you
though masquerade readiness.
In the morning,
more seething than usual, because seeming uncertain,
sleep is dolled out - whimsical by the hour.
Smell of barbarism each time put to the unconscious.
Describe, briefly, her lips. But cannot.
Only parallels emerge - peccadilloes. And careless attentions.
These always - but they can't - namely - control measures.
Microscopically viable. Lingering over real joints -
visible to the few. Over like coloured rows. The two parts heady in contrast.
Live transmission of a calf muscle being segregated -
literally torn apart - placated.
Or unconsciousness (paraded). But there is NO SUCH THING.
By remembrance I mean:
always exceeding the mark.
Rows disjointed like heads, automatically piled.
Not even cheap
but free, biting the point, as if to enlarge it.
What was it that first got away? What muscles left that are moving?
Are all the returns fervent,
Con amore? Or could that tell when it was ‘broken.’
So much morality
drenching the lost production.
There were dialogues, but they was interested / bougie, with no matter but
who re-settling all scenic routes this way & flawed.
I realized that what made us happy contravened
ourselves. Prepared armament. Remembrance.
And once you're not happy - I will have gone. Or conversely,
once I've gone - you won't have noticed me. Or your freedom.
Regrets shade from exactly this distance im-
And why should we want to grip on that
emily critchley holds a PhD in contemporary, American, women’s poetry and philosophy from the University of Cambridge. She is the author of several poetry chapbooks, with Arehouse, Bad press, dusie, Oystercatcher and Torque, and her Selected Writing, Love / All That / & OK, was published by Penned in the Margins in 2011. She teaches English and Creative Writing at the University of Greenwich, London.