‘Multiplexiglass’ by Chris Kerr





The gaffer will use his tape 

of several dimensions 

to secrete the fourth 

which is overtime 

round his Stetson. 

He adheres

electricity to magnetism 

and inducts the lead

into her aura.  


He placates the union

with his electric guitar

in various dives.

The gaffer’s audience

is a substation

of his attraction to wire.




Soften the lights

he speaks at the encore

there is a song I will not force


Song of the W and H Bosons


The Hollywood sign

suspends decade-old WordArt

over PowerPoint

slides of every kind of blonde

pitching the pre-club

twilight. Those squares tessellate

as Jitterbug ballroom

then dilate to golf dimples

rolling down Mulholland Drive.


The Wood in the sign

is ’cos a wood hit that ball

at the same angle

each branch of the W 

makes to the city streets.

A suicide spins off the

H. Is it Holly?

She takes her particulars

from its perpendiculars. 


The director’s chair sags with her loss

sneers the guru from a still-lit

corner. No other

vibration escapes the applause’s crack.


You should respect the space

of the gaffer’s song

i lashes back.

Words are vague and flexible

they curve to the terrain.

The letters of the sign

your gaffer just rigged

ripple from downtown

as they do not

from the lathered vantage

of the chopper’s math.


Besides, don’t most gaffers in this metropolis

answer to Chief

Lighting Technician these days?

proceeds the guru.

I know a different version

of his number, where the actor practised

meditation right and lived.

She had no need for language

only the bungeed field of breath

the lungs fall into.


Horseshit, bats i. People get real dissociative

on that rebound. i bet she had a psychotic

break at one of your camps.

i bought that package of both/ands.

They lead you by the hand

on personal policies

but let go and you’re all demon

in the press, a goof ball

that tried to interfere

with the gills of a koi.


You’re still speaking for him,

transmits the guru,

but that’s your action.

My techniques make nothing happen

in a war zone.

They make this bar







After a party in the hills five of us went back to the guru’s property, which is one room surrounded by three concentric corridors. In the first corridor nothing happened and the guru turned to the composer and said ‘wait here while we go through that door to chant’. In the second corridor nothing happened and the guru turned to the director of photography and said ‘wait here while we go through that door and look through filters’. In the third corridor nothing happened and the guru turned to the director and said ‘wait here while we go through that door and I fuck i’. Nothing happened in the guru’s room.





In the unified field

of singular darkness

and the blown flux of LAX

the gaffer appears to i

as a rakshasa

or Dark One

wholly wrapped

in black duct tape.


His white ass is baked 

with the lightning burn

of Maxwell’s equations. 


i imagines the unmeasured

coordinates of payback.


Mumbling ‘gravity well

never fit the theory

but I accept your hit’

the gaffer is felled

by his fast constraint

towards the East. 


i has no need for a diner,

notes and a table to pass them across

but can squirt bitcoins

over the gaffer’s onion

network from bed come morning.

Still i is sentimental

and will cut a little tab

with a burger on it

to put under i’s tongue.




Professor Holly Painuly has a tendency to be in her office at the High Energy Physics complex at UCLA. She has tendencies to be in neighbouring suburbs. Her Out of Office e-mail response is

What is the sound of a sore throat swallowing a wave?





The guru eventually penetrated the closed set. 

i invited him to sit on the floor

on a taped x.

That morning the director’s

consciousness was mainly grounded

on the shake in his bloodstream

and i’s on a glass of water.

The director looked at i

for a particularly long time

having lost concentration.

i could’ve sworn he was levitating

when the light fell on him.



Chris Kerr’s poems have been published in AmbitOxford Poetry and Under the Radar. In 2015, he completed an MA dissertation on Basil Bunting’s poetry at Durham University and co-edited an issue of Magma PoetryChris is currently collaborating on a code poetry book.



Image credit: Espen Klem

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