one bird with two stones
for Bruce Reynolds
((( I ))))
the proof
against what is
is what is
windows bleed your initials
into hands in the sun
a cakewalk across scoured palms
to tell each fingertip its name
(((( II )))
in sound ← impossible to tell the difference
between memory and roulette wheel
when the ball stops in your mouth
bronze slippers surprisingly comfortable
leave no impression on history’s cheek
you are asked directions
to the silo for last breaths
((( III ))))
upright figure on parallel bars
feels he has inserted himself
into the void in an equals sign
courage stings the wound to recognise
the inability of democracy to feel pain
sudden questions for slow answers
won’t admit who their mother is
(((( IV )))
under loose turf
the foot of any sculpture
will request a different shoe size
is this the archaeology of intent
unable to find evidence of itself
the scream inside the bottle
still a scream in division
((( V ))))
catapults either side of a wooden bridge
nest granite versions of your head as payload
in unsteady buckets impatient for their command
the elbow and thumb best cousins
in a schoolground of physical existence
angels have discovered how to sell mirrors
back to their deeds
(((( VI )))
you show the class
how to deflate your eyeballs
to fit them in your pocket
where sleep is forbidden
dreams are in control
did her skin tear
when you noticed it
((( VII ))))
did the mechanic arrive
to fix the prayer
in its foxhole
scope an argument with enough truth
to ensure the dam wall fails
the bones in your throat
wait for their morning walk
(((( VIII )))
a glowing dislocation
within this act of looking
completes an image
had i called you to call me
neither of us would hear anything
sorghum madder congratulates its perfect field
where crows plough themselves into earth
((( IX ))))
they had to ration eyelids
to determine those worthy
of going blind
faces clamped in marble mouths
wholly digested by silence
a relief to remove the heaviest mask
before stepping into the grave
(((( X )))
centuries from now fine cracks appear
in concrete as trapped gas from unknown egos
pushes through this conglomerate mass
fragrance akin to a peat-rose
sniffed aloud via the sole nostril in poetry
solitude a lungless flame
to be put out with its match
Statement
one bird with two stones tangentially explores the language around collage. The set is a snapshot from on-going conversations with artist Bruce Reynolds, well known for his use of materials such a linoleum, plaster, and concrete. Using forms as visual translation, Bruce’s imagery often captures and resets existing forms, referencing design, sculpture, and architecture both ancient and modern. From the personal standpoint, I conclude that most objects and concepts from molecules to memory, can be considered collage.
