Going Garbo
It is secret & unseen but under your shirt
you are alive, working a panel of pert
buttons with your fingers, as cold coils
of white wire lie & rub against your skin.
The machine whispers, curvature ice thin,
a shield against the grim passing gargoyles
& death's-heads, 1000s of white headphone-
wearing passengers who want to be alone.
You forge 100, 200 glittering train miles
in a capsule battered by bomb-lit vials
of light &, unseen, you detect the dark machine
has a long moving cord, a gland, a spiny dart
that sews your inner ear to your inner heart,
whose sound within its deep & glaucous mine
is pearly-eyed and huddled close to your bones.
You float, invisible spectre amongst travel zones.
‘Going Garbo’ © Andrew F. Giles. Reprinted by kind permission of the author. 'Going Garbo’ first published in Magma #53 (2012).
It is secret & unseen but under your shirt
you are alive, working a panel of pert
buttons with your fingers, as cold coils
of white wire lie & rub against your skin.
The machine whispers, curvature ice thin,
a shield against the grim passing gargoyles
& death's-heads, 1000s of white headphone-
wearing passengers who want to be alone.
You forge 100, 200 glittering train miles
in a capsule battered by bomb-lit vials
of light &, unseen, you detect the dark machine
has a long moving cord, a gland, a spiny dart
that sews your inner ear to your inner heart,
whose sound within its deep & glaucous mine
is pearly-eyed and huddled close to your bones.
You float, invisible spectre amongst travel zones.
‘Going Garbo’ © Andrew F. Giles. Reprinted by kind permission of the author. 'Going Garbo’ first published in Magma #53 (2012).
