Kelp

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.

Copyright © 2009 Paul Farley All rights reserved
from Poetry London
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission