TURN­ING

BOMB Magazine - - ARTHUR SOLWAY -

So goes the revo­lu­tion. To turn the wheel, to ro­tate, re­volve, turn­ing the turn, the turn of a hair— and it’s the loss of all com­po­sure. A hair­pin turn, to turn­about, to look… Now it’s your turn to turn down, to spin, swivel, swerve, to take the curve that turns the stom­ach, to veer and arc, with the turn of a screw the turn­buckle of the body is fixed. Turn­ing the ta­bles. You’re never turn­ing back. Turn the key as all heads turn, when no­body is look­ing, the body turned loose no longer im­pounded. Turn up the mu­sic. Turn off the lights. Turn on. Turn over. We take turns twirling be­fore turn­ing-in for the night, to re­turn to sleep, to turn out with the morn­ing riders who, in turn, turn their pages. Turn around and we turn a cer­tain age. Turn around again and the sun­light is turn­ing, turn­ing this dim room bright.

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