Equinoctial Extract from Iain Sinclair's 'Lud Heat'

             sits
the coat of darkness, wondering
if he would ever write it
             a small
                       hand of light
             melancholy
turkey wafer swells in his throat

in another room the electric serial
             loud & raw
has taken something from his eye

"pray stick to the point"
             the sentinel wood
lime, sycamore, london plane
the immigrant sails
                                   recording night breezes
an enclosure of persecutory bulbs

             the cat
is claimed is pregnant the white hairs
of fear mark my shirt
             so many call
so many coffees wines

these are the summer words
             & if he works
it is not all because he has to
             face down
along the curve of falling energies

there is nothing more
                                    or less
than to become unconscious

to hood this day's falcon