THE ARGUMENT
An itinerant treads through the fields in London, Wales and England, picking through the debris of a culture war, heading back home to the north. They record the thoughts of objects and see the others talking and gesturing, haunted by visions and dreams of the past and future. The field repeats, each time slightly differently. In each field a different assemblage – maybe a castle, or a festival, or a bird
I sit and play around with you
like a dolphin enjoying the
water round a quiet ship – ice
soon takes the water and I leave.
A buttercup has been crushed here
all its petals are gone. I want
to find the key to unlock you –
not to know you, just to see a
smile break. Then a dog wanders up
oh holy dog. Accomplishes
with presence what I had failed at
attempting to stand on my head!
Sophie the dog gets scratched and I
see George Trakl’s pastoral field
scattered with corpses and blue mist
over the nebulae of grass
evaporate under our field
borrowed here on Hampstead Heath, sun
is altered and wizened by the
clouds that pile like a rock slide.
The entire sky is the open eye
of god, examining us
up close. And so few conclusions
are drawn. The eye begins to close
Absolute|Unrest 