There'd been a tendency for sky to turn milky.
Like so. My least inflections were the soonest
proved. A chastening experience, you can tell!
So who'd come up with solutions? You gather

entries as you may, a connoisseur takes them
nothing but straight. Say when, and I'll be
there, interpreting, as of right! Lost pretexts
entirely out of the question. Horizons beamed

from your eye: on the map of Seldom Mended,
landfall has guaranteed your name. Normality.
Whether you sighed at giving up the future or
connived at altering consciousness. By custom,

it was narrators who kicked up dust, or didn't
you know? Not even my key displacements'd
changed the scale, but, to be fair, they weren't
far out. I'd sensed things getting appreciably

colder. Weren't fogs, in the main, someone
else's business? I'd tried too hard; inevitably,
the audience grew edgy. Don't forget though,
was February - there wasn't much more

to say and I found it a burden, fleshing it out.
No oculus is content with such 'muted space'?
Even the add-ons limit solar gain. Get ready
for fallout or reckon on daylight coming clean.


Shouldn't the waves break right over and right
through this inescapable context? Never mind
memory and an occasional mastery of precision
backdrops, both as you'd wish them to be, in

situ. Picture the tempest. Go with its wintry,
its near-human (did I hear you say it?) dialogue.
Keep a lookout for the late ship crashing home
to port. Here, still waiting to be heard, are the

anonymous silvers and whites, the restless, dirty
greens of a querulous time between; if you don't
do hymns, then why not issue a proclamation?
There's no mean skill involved in throwing dice,

but forgive me the muddle of (now you like it,
now you don't) results, which is how it is. If
you feel a picture coming on, stand by for the
bluff - remember how one day's marks stay

visible for ages, commonly, till there's second
sight. I trust you can cope - with such a lot
at stake. Defiance, for every day of a life for-
gone, makes a brute sea brighter. Seeing what

a small world comes to, and how commentary
tests the most vacant or loveless place in things.
You'd do well to catch it, new colour's as good
as gone. Seas shouting, forcing a text to hear.


Bringing investigations to life. Like a pick-up
truck found burned out in the desert, no-one
and not a clue on site to finish either the first

or last sentence. I can recall 'the atmosphere'
more than any conflict with belief. It can take
me hours to switch my mind from devastation

to the part played by Special Forces. Thriller
revealed as hoax ... lynch-law with the longest
tracking shots you've ever seen. Eloquence is

as visible as ever in the dust - watch how it
blows around. I admit, it's good enough for
me. I've got to the point where resonance is

itself, no longer a contradiction, so you won't
me pulling faces - as long as the whole
script finds an audience. Picture what actually

that would be a joy to see! As for
the wreck, we know, don't we, how thorough
they are, wiping a scene? Do I go with that?


Only by exiting the dark forecourt like someone
in a thriller could I have purged the text of its
undeniably thin strands of logic. Whatever else

I'd unearthed, would have to wait. It was one
of those tear-off forms, but with only one box
to tick and I'd been meticulous about the answer.

Imagining myself in the very same position was
a lot different to actually being there. Do
stand no nonsense when support from up above

attempts to cash in? 'No nonsense' often puts
things into perspective, but when the word itself
implodes, where then? So much for the trip of

a lifetime, let alone the chance to fly. Truths
and readymades, no matter they were all railed
up, they'd never hang true. Your 'remission',

was, if anything, just a word in the book. It
needed to stay there. Old school, pure phoney,
and so on, yes, for sure we
had looked at the

clock. Full beams (coupled with a throaty roar)
can work wonders. Who'd guess we'd make it
to the small screen! Don't ask me the way or

even how clear ... Particulars that night were
cheap at the price. As to points to watch for?
The invigilators, getting their fix on brilliance,

a last-gasp hero, cracking on through his A-Z.


'Wind and rain here. Not at all pleasant. But
thanks for your last and all the enclosures. A
reckoning, yes,
is due and you can bank on it.

Did you catch the light show, or weren't those
rainbows to your taste? The finished article's,
no doubt, still in the making. I guess I

already sensualised, the result of all those years
hanging out with the force! Sights and sounds
could be forgiven for thinking we're over the

worst. Too little contention makes for the art
of the dull! Naive it is and almost by demand.
It's got to be where I stay; blown every which

way, miles from my past. We'll talk about it,
maybe a sky or two later? Right now, I've a
big blue patch to deal with. It breaks me up.'

       Peter Dent 2008