Nucleus
4, image by Nicola Winborn
malicious software
it
is the lamp of the soul in tampa
we
eyed stingrays pinging dots dwarfing
some
splendour spread we eagled full
deal
with it three for one offer hours run
rings
around our star bucks our latte aria
carried
in vespers frothy whispers
my
cup overblown rose from rise tried
tubular
notes string days like alice said
ten
decent weddings decimated tentacle
fall
as fallow ah, but arthbuthnot or
costner’s
water whirled stirring decades
later
it lifts riffs to dolphinaria far
off
mountains ‘cinched in with’ visioning
rote
areas to escape slowly state aporia
—Colin
Winborn
