Into the River Now Parting the Reeds
In the mud are shoeprints and there are parallel lines carved into the
bark, they’re deep trenches so the sap runs out.
I’m watching the river flow off, this is a wide river enclosed by birch
trees the branches all hung with flowers.
It feels like a storm but it’s really only the white flowers.
I’ve lit a fire the light’s spreading from it. I can see everything from
this coin-operated telescope.
The sky’s clear, I remember someone was talking about contrails or
I’m unwrapping this one tree trunk so I can roll tobacco in the bark,
the pouch is under my hat.
There’s a flat blade on the ground in amongst the feathers. The sun’s
reflecting off of it.
The woods I’m emerging from are pretty thick, there are some stumps
and then the trees opening out.
Here comes a rush of water. I’m harvesting reeds with a flat blade I
found. In a tent with food dangling over.
I’m tapping on a hollow gourd. Some hollow logs are leant up into a
shelter and now I’m hitting those at the same rate.
Visualising the water starting to freeze over. There’s a buzzard riding
on the wind, it’s circling now.
Lightning hits a telephone pole but it’s fine, the wires have been taken
off. I’m beginning to think there’s some regularity.
Finding a woven sheet, folded over a rock. Someone’s dropped a
hammer I can hear it falling close by. There’s also a long linen dress.
I’m ashing my cigarette onto some moss. I need to brush off the salt
that’s all over my jeans.
I can see a cruise liner and a fishing boat, both kind of far out and the
road bridge up closer to the mouth.
There’s an old car headed straight across painted like a turtle. I’m
picking up a fossil rotating it slowly. My hand’s bandaged.
I’m feeling the ripples from the port, the beacon tower looks like a
In the process of making a pile of reeds to shelter in. There’s a plume
of smoke coming from a clearing.
I’m probably inhaling spores, there are splinters right near my eye.
The slope’s so steep I have to pull myself up.
There are loads of seeds being carried on the wind. I’m washing my
left then right hand and spitting my toothpaste out into the shallows.
Standing on a concrete ramp that goes down into the water. I’m
pushing my hand forwards thru air my palm’s covered in graphite.
Several fish have been laid on the ground. I’m covering everything
with a tarp and trying to find a cave to keep wood dry in.
The pickup truck’s flooding and there’s someone throwing pots off the
back scooping out water with a saucepan.
I’m sure a bird’s scraping the concrete bridge with its claws.
I’m counting a pile of smooth stones and keeping my eyes closed.
The counting’s starting to yield some results.
This light was left on overnight I think, it’s casting my silhouette onto
the trees. I can feel a low humming.