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Royal Festival Hall (Level 5), Southbank Centre, LondonOpen Tuesday - Sunday from 11am to 8pm
The Rose grows gracefully in nature,
breathing the pure fresh air,
drinking the cool rainwater.
The rose is a delight to look at,
it brings a joy to my heart.
The rose gives a wonderful scent,
the rose I believe should be protected,
the rose should not be frightened.
The rose should be allowed the space, time and freedom to grow,
the rose should not be left isolated or alone.
Is there such a rose in your family?
They open the way this little porth
Fills up under the window:
Quietly unstoppably, but are
Not pulled by the moon, the dullest twilight
Works them deep enough
And the damp imago clambers into the air.
This I had patience for, this I could watch
Through all the starts and restings
And even when they looked to be hovering on witholding
Then my credence
That I had feared dead in its clamped shell
Beckoned them further out.
It bowed me again into the aura of your face
Again into the scent of what it feels like
When love, frail thing,
Forces itself into being seen, the unstoppable
Helpless, the unbelievable
Beginning to be believed
Whose opening scent is like
Warmth off the moon
Or the cold off your face when you entered my house and home
Sweet love, sweet breath of it
From these tall flowers, from their pale faces
Opened on the air, earthy.
a place of backward -
slow pace of light, to move
as if dragging a sumptuous cloak
& searing memoir
as if whole facility
the oak grew dark and close
so like ideas
around his sump of blood
or shining like that, having never found friendship
that felt as good as music did
Get submerged in the blazing sun
Get submerged in the rippling blazing sun
Hear something as I get submerged in the rippling blazing
Hear something then don’t hear then hear again as I get
submerged in the rippling blazing sun
It’s like the voice of someone confessing while shaking softly
It’s the voice I have wanted to hear for a thousand years
Hear something then don’t hear then hear again then don’t
again as I get submerged in the rippling blazing sun
Lie down on the floor of the blazing sun
Lie down on the cold floor of the blazing sun
It is so hot that the cold floor of the blazing sun sweats
The sweat of the cold floor of the blazing sun is like a knife
Among the knife-like drops of sweat from the cold floor of
the blazing sun the tiny knives that are barely visible beat
against my ears
The sound of knocking on the eardrums doesn’t tear the
eardrums that are about to tear
The faraway beating sound comes from faraway, faraway like
Let me in, let me in, let me in the sound is so faint that it
pleads with its needle-like hands
As eyes open a flock of crows darts out from my ears their
beaks poke at my pupils