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I saw you… On the Tee-Vee… Back in Eighty-Two… Before the tube… Was given up… To me and you… They shoot… The past, now… Don’t they?… One of Poliakoff’s finest… Surfaced briefly… Last week… Like a voice from the crypt… It’s hybrid form… Not quite stage play… Not quite film… Though leaning heavily on both… Seemed like a swan-song… To a dying art before… The twins collapsed… Into their own footprint… The premise… Of the tale… Strained to be believable… Even though it was true… That pictures tell stories… They can it appears… Also tell tall tales… Had but the collection been Akashic…
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The premise would have worked… Perfectly… Like the timing of the… Pet investigation… Timed or should that be primed… To hit during a parliamentary… Recess or abscess… Without leave… Our spoilt brat shuffled into camera… Clutching his heartfelt apology… Scripted by… Well, let’s just call them… His unknown superiors… Whom presumably are aware… That ignorance of the law… Is no defence in law… And this priming… May well yet work against them… Giving the righteous indignation… Of the general populace… Time to fester and build… Before exploding over the whole sorry lot of them…
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Like a lanced boil… I saw you…Tread the boards… Back in thirty-two… Before the theatre… Stopped being… Quite so true… On the navy patrol boat… Snaking up the Congo… Like a circuit cable… Lance, a famous surfer… Sunbathed oblivious… To the arc light… Colouring the skies… Like so many chem-trails… Also denied… By the authorities… How can you live… In love… If you fear the sun… As a devouring god… Glaring down upon you?… Another unanswerable question… Amongst the many which now proliferate… On what passes… For the one… True narrative… To rule them all… So precious!
France & Vincent 