I suddenly realise that I
Need the lights on, the
Candle’s insipid, greasy guttering
Is no longer sufficient.
Into the left,
Across to the right:
Who could have guessed it?
The juggler tastes his throwing apple;
Thunderbolt runs down kite-string,
Water no longer fits in the bath-tub,
Frustrated scientist goes gamma-green.
Maybe the best dancers
Don’t need the notes?
it’s about the white matter –
Less is more –
A disembodied voice informs me. –
Does she know I can hear
Music when it isn’t playing?