No clues here to a lifehowever the shadow-play of my anglepoise might attempt to aggregate a face,feign grief, surprise, delight. It waits like a glass boxin a bankrupt jeweller's.
This monotony of boneis a snapshot of the moon.I turn it through its cycle, feel its pull: from swaddling-cloth to specimen case.
I contemplate it for hours on end.Still it gives up not the briefest song.
of a cloud bank sixty leagues outfrom a small African republicstruggling with insurgency and pandemic,a Captain announces they'll fly above it.A grandmother presses her cold noseto the porthole but cannot make outthe rocking horse of the lonely trawler below;
the smell of spilt diesel, fish guts, blood and brine, gravity in flux, a coffee cup slides along the galley,its thick dregs are J M W Turner's Snowstorm: Steamboat off a Harbour's Mouth.
"Adam O'Riordan was born in Manchester in 1982 and read English at Oxford
University. He studied poetry under Andrew Motion at the University of
London and was awarded the inaugural Peters, Fraser and Dunlop poetry prize.
He currently works part-time for the publisher Enitharmon and as a tutor. In
2006, he was awarded an ACE writer's bursary."
Clever Cat no? It's fun to play with words.