A Fingertip on Black Bulb

~ To catch the light blowing before the room darkens.

~ To hear the finger remaining there, in silence, like a lance.

~ To draw a diagram of melancholy.

~ To notice a sleeping, intaglioed arm in the middle of the night.

~ To read a page sopping with ink.

~ To release a burrow from the soil.

~ To disperse pitch with gentle pressure.

~ To sense a landscape clench.

~ To point, unsure of what is visible.

~ To see one burnt sand grain become an eye.

~ Today we will not do so much work.

~ To divide a shadow into areas of risk.

~ To pick up stars with a moistened digit.

~ To face what is left.

~ To be a lake throwing back a jetty.

~ To ponder a fire that eats its smoke.

~ To wait for a painting to speak.

~ To tap bile.

~ To fathom the limits of an exterior.

~ To prod gathered mercury for an answer.

~ To watch a crow fly out from a drain.

~ To consider thought being rehearsed.

~ To make a counterpart of the infinite.

~ To discover a distant star already in ruins.

~ To cradle a dead match.

~ To put forward a lifetime’s magnification.

~ To touch the possibility of release.

~ To press the moon in, finally.

~ To be seen by an animal.

~ To be sieved by the ceiling.

~ To discern a tulip stone inside the head.

~ To weep with the hands.

~ To degenerate in storage.

~ To wait within listening.

~ To blindly follow the folds of space.

~ To forget how darkness starts.

~ To dream a speech bubble aflame.

~ To detach a device from its every function.

~ To brush sound down from the tops of trees.

~ To feel hunger, bewildered in the stomach.

~ To deploy a peppercorn in a furrow.

~ To put forward an index of unknown proportions.

~ To establish a political point of resistance in the cheek.

~ To hold writing at bay with the pen.

~ To orbit a single point ahead of a slingshot.

~ To discern colouration through temperature.

~ To have the feeling that darkness is just beneath daylight.

~ To type, as if from nowhere:

Quite where / in all this / pre-cavernous space / inside the head / you are to set up / your singular / emplacement / is left / undecided / for the moment / as with any / procedure / lacking all but / the formative / qualities of thought’s / imperial traction / it comes / disregarded for its own good / thinking of the sun / as having been pierced / with a pin / right on / the underside / where / you cannot see it / and it leaks / spinning out all / over the land / a great yolk / at the end of which / there will be nothing / left but the thin / bag carcass / an exhausted sac / that mournfully / smiles down / an expression so / utterly godless / that the disastrous vial / is immediately thought / to be threatening / and the masses rise up / in uniform distrust / of that Repta-Sun / all retreating to glass / caverns buried / in the earth from / where all manner / of spheroidal-strategems / coalesce in captions / operated by the fingers / via great banks of workers / not allowing air / to escape into air / ectothermic factories / plotting the removal / of a sagging star / once revered / now a trunk / stripped of its boughs / and soon / vast structures / protrude from the edge / of the atmosphere / the better to support / the great syringe as it / dilates towards its / target over countless / light years / lining / up its barrel / for a single shot / at the sun-skin / that has turned black / over the centuries / one shot that will / sing out as a form / of occupation / pressing a fingertip / into the darkness / to refill that / which was once / fill of light.

~ To couple one thought with the bloated image of another.

~ To attach nothing to anything but further attachments of things.

Published as a limited edition pamphlet as part of a series of realisations of George Brecht’s Water Yam, curated by Compost and Height in 2012.