Mark Dickinson

from The Speed of Clouds

from: section i. A Cloud is Nothing Else: Supersaturate Or Cloud-burst In Dreams


Detail. Micro-muse. Press from deep field. In the absence of sun a tracery of vague recollections scattered amongst samples of aired sound. Origins of breath, lung, partitions of the lived body and mind, blood, water through a poorly sealed door which exposures the occupants to cold, damp, lived in. But there is no evidence that you can get a cold from exposure to cold weather; Nimbostratus, or the faint lines of a small jut with swollen lymph nodes, Low, dark & heavy. Walking from here you may take to the sea where cloud-n-sea-horizon       a term found wanting       in the silent
& white.       Blue.


Weak palpable, severing locks out; green pressed trick inaudible seed with Comus swaying liquored edge. Pale-lit light fancy-parlour-ground, no running on writ rule corridors in dreams. He holds you lately coldly? is it because? Tables in woods deflower the centuries whip and curdle, the cream he plied on you! An ash with barely a fettle, no quip in festoons unbridled manage, nowt culpable between. He wish you merry, you him of course but always the difference, the faint light of early worship is being as such; like, not to like, and merry for it? so.