by James Nixon
I direct you to the rest of the page – the blanker bits. You don’t even need to read on. What is its texture/s. Did it originate from a genus of tree or is it a recycled newspaper. Can you detect any buried headlines. Are these just imperfections. Smell it or lick it if you want. You could even rub it against your eyebrows. How do changes in light effect it. Prop it up against a far wall and assess it from several paces away. What kind of relation do you share with it. Does it remind you of anything. Beeswax. Orange peel. The skin on your kneecaps. Your dad’s shed. A weather broadcast . 1822. How does it make you feel. Is your spine trying to climb itself. Has your throat lost its memory. Will this poem keep you awake tonight. It’s ok if the answer is no.