Bryan Johnson
First Some Amazing Tricks and Slights of Hand
The girl in the iris stills. Flash. Bone. Exposed tulip,
your eyes twinkle and well like visible
pitch but feathery and cheapside. It’s there
for the taking
and finally you wish to see how spatially wizened
the perfect view a brief but tiny contretemps or,
contre-risposte, the girl in frame
number three is still
tied to the train terrifyingly moon-struck and irised,
watch the bubble. What Rousseau calls false air
and fairyism, you call spicy human pleasures
something faisandé
née twinkly, no? Ha-ha. I said ha-ha, cheaply. Ah-ha,
girl! Everyone sees bright and luminous lights
in the paper. It’s a sad day for canary,
like-it-or-not
the universe living out its end capaciously perfect,
seas thrashing in their humdrum reservoir
tip: seen just this way an angel switches
lens and look!