20.0e

dead write

Dylan Harris

20.0e

dead write

Dylan Harris

Potato Press

glist and discard are published on www.greatworks.org.uk

by Dylan Harris

4 anticipating the metaverse, 3 nation six dog, 2 discard

chapbooks

20.0: r dye-de-ho, q antwerp, p tension nitro ego, o church is dangerous vital, n tin rush, m the A rush, l an engineering rush (ii), k Miss Demeanour, j flock state, i be infinity, h Namings, g nation six dog, f uncivil law, e dead write, d chase chase, c an engineering rush (i), b a much for we, a The Joy Of Tax

19.9: c Inn, b Swoop, a An Ode To The A14

19.8: c Rose, b Hymnen, a Darmstadt

Copyright © 1985-2006, Dylan Harris

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Published by Potato Press

Lëtzebuerg

http://dylanharris.org/

potato@dylanharris.org

(Specify “20.0e” in the subject line of any email)

Recitals of some of these poems may be found online

Poems

still biting

glist

Underneath The Loch

discard

dead write

still biting

in memory of Dave Wise

“i’ve got death” he’d said

staring me

he knew

i know

some journeys

you just ride

his funeral…

no mine

i’ll have the Ahknaten’s wake

sweat the mourning out

he’d enjoy it

laugh

called me a prat…

i should have held courage

worn my black bow tie

glist

1

the packets arrive marketing–liar glint

bright inside–see glisted envelopes

creating excited saliva undercurrent

promising just–once–more consumption desire

this–time the–last–time sate–now never–more lies

i’m immune junky crash–sale head–warp madness pharm–glit

less so drink–drunk like–now hurt–soon make–shout

my weakness they know my weakness these glisted promises

exotic–freedom strange–use want–buy must–buy rush

lucky dark–dread consequence only bailiff–court–sneer

2

absorb descriptor

adore review

runrun purchase

unreleased

bollocks to the bastards

using my enthuse

to seek orders

discard their abuse

the press

them 0

3

all the glisted conmen

ad they’re the lady

smooth skin and glisten lust

a this is yours this now

ad they’re the guy

water–skipping every else to only you

they can’t stop

you can’t move

but where’s the glisted guarentee

where’s the promised consequentials

all the glisted conmen

they’ll never deliver

4

seek research build fulfil report

if you must

seek reuse brag

if you can

obey the law

minimal cost

remember

adverts boasting quality

its cheaper to law and lie

Underneath The Loch

A man, giraffe–like, thin, a random match of clothes

to woollen hat and stubble, faked the drinker’s sway.

He pissed as though he thought that he had got away,

he’d looked about but failed to spot my eyes, my loath–

ing eyes. He stood on rock, on lonely highland rock,

a sloping down to water highland rock, to dark

and silent loch, to isolated loch. And stark

above, a minor hill, a hundred metre smock

of stone, so worn by nagging wind and broken trees.

But he was staring down, then kneeling down, was at

the water’s border, brushing fingers in that flat

and freezing wet betrayer. No, not fingers, he’s—

I don’t remember what. I see the lights, the lights,

the bright and churning fire attractive lights,

they’re underneath the water, they’re watching me.

I see the lights, the lights, they’re witching me.

I’ll try, I’ll try to not remember them. He stood,

he stood and walked away, not far, and turned to watch

the mere. He waited, and he waited. Then a blotch

of sunlight broke the dusk and shone on me; I could

have kept my eyes on him, perhaps, but felt I had

to hide until the sun had ceased to lend its smile.

When I returned, a slow and careful creep, a while

had past, but there he was, no longer still, a tad

disturbed: his movements jerked. His confidence was spent.

It took some thought to work it out: his clothes had changed;

they seemed a little darker, sprayed in dirt, arranged

a subtle differently. Then in the loch he went.

I don’t remember it. I see the lights, the lights,

the bright and churning fire attractive lights,

they’re rising from the water, they’re locking me.

I see the lights, those lights, bewitching me.

I’m holding, just, but not for long. He swum and dived.

He surfaced once or twice, but then the loch was still.

And after thirty seconds, I sprinted down that hill;

by luck I didn’t trip. What could I do? I’d tried

to phone before; the signal wasn’t there. I stripped

at speed to swim myself, to dive and give him breath,

but that was when the loch was lit from underneath.

At first the light was white and still, yet I was gripped

by shock. I grabbed my things and sprinted off. I suppose

I looked an idiot, I tried to dress and run.

When nothing followed me, I calmed and clothed, then spun

around to watch the loch. The lights had moved. They rose.

I daren’t remember more. I saw the lights, the lights,

the bright and churning hypnotising lights,

they’ve risen from the water, they’ve stolen me.

I’m in those lights, the lights, they’re raping me.

You woke me up, you soldiers, with your sirens and

your rushing round. You brought me here, and ask me what

and when and where. I’m scared; I’m in the blank of shock;

please let me home; I need my partner’s warming hand.

discard

1

possession’s ownership discarded

no longer mild nostalgia replayed at bored will

the listening must wait for random radio schedule

or rare shared taste in complexity

an intellectual heat best held back unfed

to audience

no more only opened by my hand

pausing shallow tales retold

nor exploration of non–sequential centuries

libraries will help me roll speculation

the texture of someone else’s careful dream

ingested rewritten thrown

no rectangle again captured vision

no wild land linear geometry

no raw cultivation

no mechanical ecology

these i will revisit

creating sarcastic dimensional click shots

sneering this plodding nation’s dalek bigotry

2

absence won’t bloat must keep space

non–existence can’t yet be rip violate stolen

only never belonged

cause no duty

3

i would lie if i tried to deny

that releasing my collected objects of youth

does not edge doubt’s adrenalin

does not discomfort otherwise unminded moments

but i commit

i sacrifice property’s toil

to make

4

i didn’t expect a sign

after unclasping the first grasp

a stranger a strange bar a strange city

he spoke to me

i rarely chat but this time i did

and found an ordinary old man rhymer

proud of his ordinary lines

clasping his love for a heroin fuckwit

she’s his siren

she’s spending his blood

perhaps he spoke a novel’s plot

to impress

for he was no anger

but he has gifted me

5

i’m tense discorded

on abandon past

i cannot fund these claspings

i cannot hold the stressing

favoured farmyard animals

corralled to the slaughterhouse

6

i am this week’s

blame–worm

dare i discard work

when more is risk

but i am discarding

all my its are burning

i dare discard work

when more is risk

all the glisted conmen

can drink the piss they proud

7

smash the door glass

watch the shatter

thread the hooligan chain

lift

the old steel wistful

flies young again

to corrupted heaps

piled long away

a callous day

8

relocate by rip and fall

absolute assurance reliable as luck

destination a plain town

parochial

where common are the happy clappy

reciters of hand–me–down hate

dead write

mate dies

rush write

my head’s a bath

mourning rimfilled

sloughing the overflow

down this

6.6.6

20.0e dead write

A Chapbook of poetry from Dylan Harris

20.0e Dylan Harris poetry poems

(c) 2003-2004 Dylan Harris. This publication is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike Licence 2.0.
See dylanharris.org for details.

2003-12-14T19:12:26