A puppet forest has gone to wrack
and ruin: it rubbernecked the prom
but lies unspooled now on the rocks.
Two shows a day, the celluloid of the sea.
We're building a projector from
a tide-pool's moving parts, the salt
driftwood, smooth plastics, and the snarls
of rope that come in blues, oranges and greens.
For sound: we'll sync up shells.
For editing: we'll dupe the verb splice.
For censorship: a big X in the wet sand.
Backwash and suck can be our Pearl & Dean.
`A classic of Whorled Cinema,
we bring you sunlight, tidal power…'
a voice as deep as Neptune's says,
and then the film, the film called Kelp, begins.
by Paul Farley
published Poetry London
republished by Verse Daily®
and now, here on Big Window!
kelp photo by Jean Tresfon via flickr
Robin Reagler 