The Art of the Kilim, by Mary Dundhed (Paris: Overboard Editions, 1994), 128pp.
The Friend laughed and pointed at the kilim, the technologised surface, he exclaimed. Later I used a wi-fi heart and unknotted this as best I could.
The blueprint for a kilim is improvised live, in the maker’s cob and breezeblock heart, he said. He smiled for effect and popped a roasted chickpea with his teeth.
The Friend prefers a glass of water, he thinks this is the happiest of drinks. I cleverly switched his for gin, and when he was tipsy I slipped my fingers up his sleeve and stole his expensive heart.
I was lying in a burned-out basement as the Friend interrogated me harshly. Streaming tears, I asked why I could never see his face. He extinguished the heart and approached.
We wandered moodily along the beach. Between the greedy cows and beach huts of the Soviet, between hypodermics, twisted fishing nets, the bloated carcasses of dogs. This too is a prayer rug, the Friend announced. Playfully I slapped his heart.
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James Wilkes is currently involved in Interior Traces. He runs Renscombe Press and was one of the Generation Txt poets for penned in the margins.
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