(PRINTED VERSION)
Four Views from a Camouflaged Shack
(in no particular order)
by James Bradley
I.
He hands over his dark Obsession to its dark Object—
Swan-girls high on wings cry, tangled white yarn binds their hair
Orange sapphire & lava rock weighed traverse
Dawn’s golden body from elbow to elbow
Sun awash, disappearing, disappeared like
Anomalies purged by the programmer
Gone are the days of free-roaming viruses
Proud mutants’ majesty upon
[call this the southerly view]
“the scorchéd plains”
II.
He hands over his dark Obsession to its dark Object—
A blacked-out window is a wall which cannot abandon hope
Completely, as what is deemed Right & True is rarely so
And what is “rightly & truly so” is merely bestowed
By the loons & by the fair-feathered fowl
Who latch the locks of our angelic cells
Our paradise of the senses
Our own personal swamp so-called
[call this the westerly view]
“our angel earth”
III.
He hands over his dark Obsession to its dark Object—
The weight relieved is immense & like larks his hands rejoice
As the cosmic persecution commences in earnest
The whiplash from the tail of a wild comet
Grazes the sphere of our periphery
Scorches a hole with that trepanning touch
The wings of the world hold aloft
Globular deformities o’er
[call this the northerly view]
“the fiery pit”
IV.
He hands over his dark Obsession to its dark Object—
Bored & uneasy, the Oblate is nonetheless able to sleep soundly
Through the riots, in his rough sweat-stiffened robes & hood
Tossing & turning from time to time as pebbles
Pierce the blackened window without shattering a single
Pane, without shattering his dazzled dreams
Which stretch back & back & back to
A time roughly concurrent to
[call this the easterly view]
“his second birth”
About the author…
James Bradley is an artist and writer living in Portland, Oregon. His paintings have been exhibited at the Berkeley Art Museum, the Verge Art Fair, and elsewhere. He co-edits Hexagon Press with his wife.