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Three Poems by Kat Sinclair

 

Everything about ‘A’ and ‘B,’ nothing about ‘A and B’

the body as a series of scattered images
disembodiment of a blood pressure
depersonalisation of a sex life
dissociation of a one night stand with an ex
whether or not you
bought the two pints in your left hand
un-context of a dating history expressed as a series of ones and noughts
(a catalogue of wons and nots)

each beast a tangled-headphones knot a – Shakespearean –
nouveau-neo-copy-plagiarised Cicada 3301
setting and solving the puzzles,
disappearance over the threshold
small following,
une touche de thé,
there is a limit on how many
unique hits such a page can accumulate before
a 404 such a limit has not yet been hit but I expect in
daily self-examination – puckering or dimpling,
thickening or bumpy – to know
when the hosting server cannot give more than a
reason phrase

 

  

Situational Dependence

Q: How to come to
terms with the contrived groan of your own
waking-up-in-the-morning habitudes when
you know a TV-city better than your own
cellulite house

wantingly, the construction of a neo-cliché: is it
assimilationism reclamation is it political at all to
have a coke with her, share a bed with her,
is it a part of the paternity test results of history or are we
building it a new backbone and
forcing it to stand

I am not concerned by the
knowing of a television-life-space of a celluloid New York City
any more than I am sandpaper-aware that I have
lived across from those skyriser smiles
never convinced they are powered by more than cathodes there
is something piloting my central nervous system
which drives me gladly beyond to her
own house

 

 

Binodal Curve

Thumb out on the side of the road or
across the booth, gauging reactions pressure-valve of
my arms, raised,
hitching a ride
having not seen a disposable razor in three-four months
first summer here and it’s
cavernous, gulf of a canyon
a conversation stuffed with banality and ripped at the seams

You don’t grimace; I stretch a little higher

It protects you by bouncing
your communications around
a distributed network of relays.

Thumbs screen a listicle, typical: ‘Untranslatable’, nobody
says them in their womb-country, no
l’esprit de lescalier
slogans on t-shirts, les joies de l’ete; Paris je t’aime
‘bastardisation’ translates just fine, I think
in climbing into this taxi
holding my breath I’m grappling for something
which doesn’t make deliberate impressions
(‘denim jacket, pre-ripped, Misfits patch and
thirty-five quid in the sale’)
only reads like a favourite meal
or an alarm-clock kiss

Minimise your browser window to reduce the
chances of your monitor size being
determined.

Tell you this minefield, this ‘what do three x’s mean?’
has me resizing my interests
has me
miscommunicating to avoid miscommunication
has me
caught between two parent folders of myself
lips whistle-pursed on the roadside
ripped-off, on-screen –
it’s fine, I’ve spent several cycles of renewed skin
driving myself down the wrong side of the road,
swerving tears and not-tears,
dodging cliche and deliberate avoidance
until I’m filed down,
prism of inaction, clean and creaseless,
buying disposable razors just in case
I can’t quite make that commitment,

each of which “peels” away a single layer, uncovering the data’s
next destination.

 

 

 

Kat Sinclair is a student, musician, and poet flitting between Brighton and Southampton, UK. Her collection Pendant:During is available here

 

Image credit: Kat Sinclair

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