tempering
more tools
and better tempering
than those that all
that came before
it's a bridge to me
over one hundred pencils
it's discontinuous country for me
over hundreds of pigments
and yet
the words are still words
the notes are still notes
and whatever by hand
remain
and my days are still brighter
by missive contemporary
or lines that speak to me
by who close and far
find us less temporary
it's like a full stop landing
a representation densening
by weft and warp
by blackboard rag
by entrails and dust
or golden thread
patchwork asserting
her moral right
to be recognised
other things said
physicalishthis is it this is it again and again
Yesterday :: Wednesday, 29th October 2025