ARTIST’S HEAD IMPRISONED IN PLEXIGLASS

It’s the future

you’re already dead – an itinerant

anachronism

inside a vacuum tube,

inside the shape of facts-as-given.

When’s an idea not its own medium?

Certain there’re /only/

questionable things –

though less puzzled by them

than they are by you.

Here the cameras are turned to ensure

a reluctance more picturesque.

On the third day,

the news you’d forgotten, returned –

gripped by fear

of the crucial

/missed moment/ –

like the cryogenic avatar

who embarrasses us in dreams.

What dark /art/ possessed it?

In the future

already dead, you’re an itinerant

anachronism

in a vacuum tube

no-one will ever switch on.

Construed fact-wise,

these aren’t the only

questionable /things/ – the presence

of the camera, for example,

nautilus to its own inhabiting image.

Harmless as it seems,

history still revolts you.

Like a dog-hair coat,

like a contracted zero-hour.

This is a calculated

emotional response –

a /change in emphasis/.

But salvaged from reflections in an

/empty/ screen,

who will fathom it?

! ! Artist_s Head Imprisoned in Plexiglass SMALL

INTERIOR MINISTRY

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