L I t T e R

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Tilla Brading

Post Script

the language

talks to itself


an invisible circuit

spinning off

at the incestuous door



whom you know

who knows

speaks volumes


an insular tongue

the wrong mobile message

cross X over

iron  X filigree

weld X together

frail  X connections

between saliva

and the waxed ear

Life’s a fiction

dead in prose

editing memory


The Book of Calm


between duodenum

and pancreas


the most difficult passages

on the coast

He had

the nicest vowels

she’d heard

I fly as high as a kite

Clouding the Shadow 3

(work-over Daniele Serafini’s ELLOGIO DELL’OMBRA

trans. Harry Guest)

How can I grey over the white sky


where there where reach at its utmost the rolling

hills the landscape somewhere unfolds ethereal

and Ravenna lies laden—burden of the ugly

self orphan of salt past lies and wind plain

words the past lies plain across the

present but if past the lines of birch plain white lies

black over other life in undulations is shadowed

so draws versions comfort

for it’s the modest word to be looked for here

hovering not the bombastic pollutant phrase

storm-shadow where blankness gets denser and

pastoral becomes confused with lettering.

Copyright © Tilla Brading, 2005