Iain Britton

SCREAM PARTICLE

a lyrical mayhem
of mortality hope mischievousness sexuality
         twists into a prism

commuters going home
count their spare body parts lucky
to be engaged

    i maintain the mindset
        i fit into this rush hour
of those huddling together
      via tunnels / i fit into the demographic vernacular
                            of cross-city living

apartments have adapted celebratory hideouts
     for handmade devices
              which go off with a bang
the generalissimo’s men stand still
rapid-fire heroes hit their targets
                 they make love to recoil mechanisms /
                     holy words on walls
           they attain forensic enlightment
              and leap out of windows
                    like paper paratroopers
they look amazed
at the rebuilding urgency
                       of another Carthage

in the middle of the road
               a girl opens her mouth
                  as if choking
                              on a dawn chorus
                       a congregation’s hymn /

in the middle of hills made of silk
with trees on fire
the girl opens her mouth
to the breath of a hollowed-out bone /

travelling inwards
                               it reverberates       silently
the sunset captures her
in a snapshot
running into a lense
into a glass eternity / down
a yellow corridor

            i hop off / hop on trolley buses / i
                  bed down in terminals
                  clothe myself in newspapers
i hold on to all i can of this naked exposure
                            gone global
                                  incandescent
              a still life preserved in a prism

                   rain washes the fingerprints
                          of insurgency
                             from her skin

like her        i open my mouth
                    for no other reason

      than to mime the eating of an apple
             to eagle swoop a fox to mime
             a mushroom cloud’s love dance

i worship at the world’s
             only stockpile
             of terracotta apostles

like her        i walk through a drowned valley

             of handwritten meditations

                     and enter the zionic
                     commuter rush
                     of a star drop
                                                    gone radiant

i try repeatedly
          to fit into the crystal skull
                  of her elliptical orbit

DIGITAL TAPESTRY

1

consider the cross-country conventions
            the lake
         is as good a place as any
                     to mention
or perhaps the hill
which often sleeps yawns        acts         like a man
           swipes recklessly at aircraft
             at kites balloons children
                  springing high
         for birds

2

i procrastinate
      the grubs in the garden
   wait for their happy toxic hour
           a green runny beverage brewed exclusively

i wait for the bureau of investigation
to sort out their kitbags of troubles

     for whose language
           survives this digital tapestry
                     this brother’s birthright

3

angels in fatigues
fly sorties into broken love triangles
         not all is to do with aerodynamics
         is guaranteed a soft landing
Halley’s comet
is seen topping the country’s star charts
sparking a media frenzy
for those of us fascinated
by sucking on our teeth
the taste of old calcified sites
              in the cosmos

4

the upheaval
             within the sanctuary
             of my island confinemnt
             attracts very little comment
                     the locals hardly notice -
                     the fishermen bend reflections
                     to catch leaping rainbows

they don’t see the mouth in the cave
the woman plaiting her sons and daughters
into her story for voices / they don’t see the woman
in the cave / or see me listening

**

i leave off
       what should’ve be done this morning / i should
             know better        than to
                                abandon the notion
         of denying myself matters pastoral

her fingers
quickly exploit
the dyed-red outline of my shadow
          the wet rough walls
                   of moss and lichen

5

she’s a smooth operator
                  who at this moment
        is planning
               for the vocal realisation
                             of her vision
                             of Hiruharama’s next stop
            a world sweet and sickly
sniffing the voodoo resurrection
of a tall yellow poppy

Since 2008, Iain Britton has had five collections of poems published: Hauled Head First into a Leviathan, (Cinnamon Press), was nominated for Best First Collection category in the Forward Poetry Prizes, 2008. Further collections followed: Liquefaction, (Interactive Press, 2009), Cravings, (Oystercatcher Press, 2009), Punctured Experimental, (Kilmog Press, 2010 ) druidic approaches, (Lapwing Publications, 2011), plus two pamphlets - the psychology of a river, (Greendoor Publishing, 2012) and tusitala of white lies, (Like This Press, 2012). His work was included in the Shearcatcher Poetry Anthology published by Shearsman Books, 2012. A new collection of poems will be published by Kilmog Press later in 2013 and then Rufus Books in 2016.