in the bilight
A pilgrim is journeying to Port Botany in search of coffee or a revelation, and the Spherical Polar Spirits, Altitude and Ascension, are helping him along with a little tough electric love. Part 1 is here.
Swerving water, a long slow
crash of breakers on the land,
as I journeyed in the minutes
of the bilight, when the sun
was yielding to the rise and stutter
of the streetlamps,
their denatured spectral substitution.
Around me in the street,
the blank façade of industry,
always less than its sum of parts,
and from the gloomy concrete,
Dalí’s mosquitoes, dystopian elephants
in chiaroscuro, were mocking me.
Before me in the raindrops,
I glimpsed a faint refraction,
the meniscal shape of a subtle gateway.
An indication, an alteration,
a new sentence, another paragraph,
and I went through,
but near enough to nothing happened.
My polar guides, Altitude and Ascension,
they stayed behind,
and above a nearby doorway,
an enticing neon offer caught my eye:
FIRSST CONSSULTATION GRATISSS
No, I’m definitely not the Medusa,
no, not at all,
and all her hairdo vipers shook their tiny heads.
I’m fully qualified, a therapist, a counselor
and confidante, so let’s begin.
She shuffled through a sheaf of papers
and poised a pencil.
We’ll start right here.
What’s the very last thing
Those words, exactly.
Let’s fast forward, shall we?
She turned the pages hastily,
tossing them and tearing them,
their questions scattering and sailing
through the air.
What’s the very first thing?
A indivisible ether sea shining on the future,
so sharp it cuts the shore,
layered manuscripts of shale, anaerobic
physics and futility;
a solar railway, keepsakes long forgotten,
tiny insect motes,
cellophane rabbits with eye drops
glistening in the dew.
She glanced towards an ornamental
crocodile clock, and spoke to someone
I couldn’t see.
I’m afraid that’s all we have time for this week.
Who are you talking to?
artwork impartial memories (detail above)