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BLACK GARDENS David Berridge


The Red Ceilings Press

MMXI [rcp 24] www.theredceilingspress.co.uk www.redceilings.blogspot.com/


BLACK GARDENS David Berridge


five lumber supports from Poundland support your lumber


We kneel on the floor

We untie the string and unroll the black paper We cut a strip of black paper and fold it in half We sharpen the crease with our fingers We shift to sitting with our back against the wall With a pencil on the black card we outline We cut around the shape with our scissors


love me mistake compost for compote


told the story so fast he was beautiful but no one understood a word told the story so beautifully he was lost fast & lost & beautiful & he & story


hes atat th ecomp uter


holding one free trainer aloft

writing touches upon the string

it trembles

transmits a reception

only of its own diameter


kneel the black gardens cuckoo cloud sun sings


the

wifi’s

down

he’s

dieing


take away letters black gardens balk


proposed purposed description

Welcome back black trees


pastaorall


the band Black Gardens who only perform in the dark have broken up we think


strings criss-cross the room

what I mean by “we”


everyone is texting in the black gardens xx


growl yoar owm


the trainer makes a break for it

through the Hotel du Vin & Bistro


brd

sfl

eye doc

org


happy residue on the jars of Ulrikas Amen corners

fly past of black computer bags over Poundland


git in red of old eye dears

hue man relish hand chips

tether nat oral weld


grrden


flower faces flower teeth faces teeth faces teeth flowers faces teeth teeth faces teeth nothing in the black gardens today


invention of the black rubbish sacks

we are excited

in the black gardens


yes the sun on my back the strawberries learning to walk her last boyfriend apparently put his feet through the bath


AFTERNOON 14.57

I don’t have good visual memory


The difference between the poet and the visual artist is that your illegible is public but my illegible is legible so stop reading over my shoulder


beyond the span of a human life I had carried my lap top


I agree writing should be as public as the acts it accompanies


I’ve noticed you hold your breath when you are thinking be careful about that


(loc ked int othewe tpa ges)


in the manner of French monks who forbidden to eat meat classified the otter as a fish


in the black gardens we ask what happened in the football England 1 - Germany 4 but this is Scotland maybe they are having me on


becauseofthecold


is it

a story

to

be

happy


black

gardens

cut

them

selves

out of

black gardens


grow

black

gardens

my

black gardens


singerror


6pm we think we have finished in the black gardens

that “we� again


l g o o o o k u t s i i n d t o

e

t h e

b l a c k g a r d e n

s


X = God lost


trees bees trees bees trees bees bees bees poets bees


David Berridge lives in London. He curates VerySmallKitchen. The Moth is Moth This Money Night Moth is published by The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, Kafka Thinking Stations by The Arthur Shilling Press, and Lemonade by LemonMelon.


Thunnerplump And so, we say, friendship ends here in a tidal column of cloud that crumples the sky. Today has the saddest eyes, a tick of rain before the thunder swallows us into a house roomed by chance. Raw edges of what might have been scrape my metal fillings. Magpies people the light like an old movie devoid of sound but for a theatrical pianist. We close the book on the last brick of the story as dark paint swathes old weathered wood.

The Red Ceilings Press

MMXI [rcp 24] www.theredceilingspress.co.uk www.redceilings.blogspot.com/

BLACK GARDENS  

by David Berridge