The wetsuit bubbled at my sacrum with seawater.
\nI shivered, dove through breakers.
\nSuch an urge to swim into the swell.<\/p>\n
Museums roiled in me. My cold face I counted time, counted Souls The weather was good for swimming. Relief to be in over my head. To be briny All my dead ones fathoms deep in aspic And my mother\u2019s voice was not <\/p>\n emit rococo info Pick runner beans in ricepaper light. Virtuosi on fiddle. how to strip it and weave it. Consider the impossibility of their employment Resembling Siberian tomatoes Their frilly minds are what Beno\u00eet Mandelbrot is on about There\u2019s no broadband in the polytunnel. living, recently blown-in jobbers immolate in all-over lambency. Portrait of a Lady Breathing Alternately The wetsuit bubbled at my sacrum with seawater. I shivered, dove through breakers. Such an urge to swim into the swell. Museums roiled in me. My cold face an oval Portrait of a Lady breathing alternately every three strokes to the sky. I counted time, counted Souls in Limbo […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":231,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[346,349],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nan oval Portrait of a Lady<\/em> breathing alternately
\nevery three strokes to the sky.<\/p>\n
\nin Limbo whom Christ Liberated
\non a gessoed wooden panel in the Fogg.<\/p>\n
\nIt wasn\u2019t stormy. Inishmurray
\nwas my swimming destination.<\/p>\n
\nmy spuming body a mass of raging molecules.
\nMonstrous. Spluttering. Might eat citizens.<\/p>\n
\njellied revenants in a time-space strata.
\nTheir voices bubbled through my heels.<\/p>\n
\nher voice\u2014 only balloons of motherbreath.
\nNegative ions quite far from Sligo proper.<\/p>\nThe People Employed at the Organic Garden<\/h4>\n
\nlike foam from spittle bugs
\namassing in crotches of heirloom arugula.<\/p>\n
\nPlash beetroot in rain butts.
\nFlick dirt from purslane in polytunnels.<\/p>\n
\nNuisance persons.
\nPossessors of willow knowhow<\/p>\n
\n(Okay a bit lax
\non payment of car tax.)<\/p>\n
\nelsewhere, say Esquire\u2019s, slinging latt\u00e9s
\nwiping teak tabletops with Cillit Bang on a rag: no!<\/p>\n
\nthe people employed at the organic garden
\ngerminate at low temperatures.<\/p>\n
\nin a TED talk\u2014 the ineluctable
\nbaroque of Romanesco broccoli.<\/p>\n
\nIt squats in Knockvicar a luminous plastic sun-
\ntrap capturing sky, anarchy and rural-<\/p>\n
\nhusbanding coriander
\nwhose former lives in other locales<\/p>\n
\nWhose fingers, releasing clods
\nof earth resemble salsify.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"