torch

I’m driving downhill

there’s a woman on the gas

covered in blood
I don’t know who she is

but I could take a guess

guinevere

there - I guessed
I bundle her into a cellar
where launcelot is already waiting
tied to a chair
like the space shuttle to its rocket
the cellar is amorphous

cavelike

expanding and contracting in the swaying wafts
which flicker and leap  
repulsive walls

as I torch the guy

it’s very simple
he’s imolated like fluff on grease
then I shoot the mute lady just in case she’d ever lived

like an antithetical shot

sucking her image from the latent negative
to be transparently obliterated
in one quick flash of pop art bang.

I’m outside the cave and the car on a hilltop
watching my back as a sudden breeze tears past
blathering torn pages from an unread script
into the dead branches of winter trees
stood like booing tombstones
above the long abandoned entrance
to a defunct victorian railway tunnel  
you can photograph anything now
as long as it’s black.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGlb2OaJts0  

http://soundcloud.com/martinjcooke/torch