we need
a poetic line,
not
a prosaic line,
a
line that plays with
possibilities of space,
draws attention to itself,
contravenes
convention,
will
not parade from left to right margins,
back
and forth, as
if there
is nowhere else
to explore, knows instead lived
experience
knows little
of linearity
knows the only linearity
we know is
the linearity
of
the sentence
which waddles
across the page like lines of penguins, sentenced by
the sentence
to
the lie
of
linearity,
chimeric sense
of order, born
of rhetoric,
and so instead
the artist weaves her way in tangled lines,
knows wholeness
in
holes and gaps, in
fragments
that refract
light with
fractal abandon, and
savours
the possibilities
of prepositions and conjunctions
Somewhere I Have Never Travelled |
