new zealand electronic poetry centre

Leigh Davis


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           A figurine in the field, careful, thin,
on the water's edge, breathes in /
           his time the events between himself and epsilon,
the middle term that's imprecise, contingent,
                foxy light for the fisher's faith and promise,
fixed on a surfcast any particular present
.. exhales, too little personal iron,
           Willy begins to shake, small shocks latch
like sucker fish, a detail, a mental turn,
a reach off each moment as those gulls,
                      the gap in the shore, the next scare,
cohere, and he's watching for snappage,
    suffering, so picaresque.. It seems artless, as Puanga's
cast is observed, discrete, beginning to fly

 

 


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Last updated 4 October, 2009