concrete

a photocopy of: THE GREAT ORGAN Bob Cobbing's 60th Birthday Poem, 30th July 1980. Part of 6 pages, Paula Claire. a duet with a photocopier at the poetry library. A sheet of paper becomes an object, a poem becomes an object. concrete poetry perhaps. a smooth surface folds, a beautiful fan that could close up snap, joining previously unjoined parts together. But most of the regular concertina is blank...but a beautiful new object.

distant

extension distance fold skin touch.
no words no words
just fingertips imagine the touch that could happen if reaching to touch could be achieved

fan flies open

I read and start to make a connection then suddenly the fan flies open, unfolds at speed, there is an extension, the object of my enquiry is so distant that there is no possibility of touching, even with finger tips, I want to taste the scent of it on my tongue.

An articulation outwards until I cannot articulate any longer until it is all meaningless and not of the body, of experience.