Jerusalem En­ve­lope & Jerusalem En­ve­lope (2)

The London Magazine - - NEWS - Niall McDe­vitt

en­ve­lope, throw eyes back on the atavis­tic sands, see noth­ing, it must in­trude and ex­trude on everyone, so it must be bloody big, call in the en­gi­neers of heav­en­hell and in­be­tween, lab­o­ra­tory blue, so much sky will be avail­able, it is like a wall of sky has fallen, a blue wall fallen to the brown lands of PRDS

lines, the coun­try­lines are changeth – ing, names, lines, the coun­try­names, of you of me, this wall is tech­nol­ogy in per­son, a gi­ant elon­gated ro­bot, we in its en­ve­lope, I, thee, ev­ery­woman can­not but tra­duce, the map’s chastity belt, holy gir­dle, all aches, all pains, echo in the muds, as fa­tal ma­chiner­ies at­ten­deth

a lens, techno-shad­ows whirr, some live in lines, the thick-splodged marker lines of con­cords, of pro­to­cols, homes in the marker ink. I and my trees badly blessed, ‘why am I for­bid­den from us­ing my trees?’ I asked and was re­ferred to ge­n­e­sis, ink stole the wa­ter we used to bath in, a war of mis­un­der­stand­ing, a bib­li­cal…

a bib­li­cal will do, I am a bibu­lous per­son, lo! let us build a wall of dis­used books, wine bot­tles, dead sol­diers, black ashes of rock­ets, let’s build, a li­brary, plots to en­ter and exit in­no­cently, or plots to en­ter in­no­cently and exit guiltily, with­out limbs, as I do now, 12%, a bag of blood eat­ing stars, mis­guided ideas

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