Beneath Space (Numerous LEDs in a Republic)

by Mark Goodwin - poet-sound-artist

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This poem was written in 2003, and it was sound-enhanced in 2010.
(Re-mastered May 2017.)

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BENEATH SPACE (NUMEROUS LEDs IN A REPUBLIC)

Translated from Tim Allen's
Over Time (One Lamp in The Kingdom)


Numerous LEDs in a republic
There is a republic of numerous LEDs

Numerous grasses in a republic
There is a public of numbered grasses

Numerous autumns in urban sprawl
There is a republic of numinous burdens

Numerous teeth in a republic
There is a republic of masculine blackout

Numerous renderings of a loyalist
There is a republic of thoughts

Numerous knuckles in a central trade
There is a republic of pruned willows

Numerous locations of imminence
There is a house of tower senators

Numerous spangles on a banner
There is a harbour of feminine permanence

Numerous twigs in a hedge
There is a republic of what is gone

Numerous calendars in a republic
There is a future for never

Numerous games in a prose-epoch
There is a flush-red public

Numerous ploughmen in electric chairs
There is a republic of school masks

Numerous silent personalities in a desert
It is the president's trapped sunk action

Numerous pay-day crowds inside cinemas
They are in violently folding land

Numerous soap emotions but too few
In a republic of old powder

Numinous is always too much
There is a nearest of republics

Where yes is hushing peace
No one owns their peaceful ignorance

Where yes persuades presences
In a city of parched allotments

Where yes bog-standardises biology labs
In a republic of ellipses

A republic of a dead numerous
Often inside an opaque light

Hearing a sign of dust
Still as a twig

Still as an LED
In a republic of numerous facts

In a republic of numerous data
A half-wombed woman is royal

Numerous TVs in a republic
There is a republic of numerous vices

Numerous realised insubstantialities
Released from syringes

Numerous manuscripts in mangers
There is a republic of dried-milk

A senator in a panoptican's centre
Was once a senator for a free nation

The ancient flavour suddenly come upon
The disgust

Heaped vertices in a civil order
There is a republic of civil orders

The disgust at trousers of mould
Outside the portico as old as autumn

Numerous levels in a republic
There is a republic of numerous levels

And possessed shells
Boring big news

credits

released May 2, 2017
poetry, vocals & production: Mark Goodwin
photo: Nikki Clayton

the printed-text version of this poem was first published in the literary magazine Tremblestone (around 2004/2005)

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Mark Goodwin - poet-sound-artist England, UK

My profile with
Writing East Midlands: www.writingeastmidlands.co.uk/writers-directory/mark-goodwin/

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