Flies singing / Lawrence Upton
Voice 1: Form the last darkness!
Voice 2: Prissy the pleasure sustained inertia.
Voice 1: Sexy.
Voice 2: Singing songs about fire.
Voice 1: Storms in some dead word below the tree.
Voice 2: A file of colour.
Voice 1: A gold beak sparking.
Voice 2: A straggly butterfly in flight.
Voice 1: Sand trickling from unwritten history.
[pause]
Voice 3: The archives in heaviness of pigment.
Voice 1: And intensity of her in heaviness of pigment.
Voice 2: And shouts a rustling near.
Voice 1: For being recognised.
Voice 2: She hovers with flowers.
Voice 3: Broken machinery tidy within categorical changing.
Voice 2: Light is tired, his head where she has been.
[pause]
Voice 4: Us supposes a panorama he did.
Voice 1: He is tired.
Voice 2: He is outside.
Voice 3: Is he hopeful?
Voice 4: >I've spilled some slight variations from the rich hands.
Voice 3: Search of an idea of the forest in a picture rolling down until the risen hour of having no need.
[pause]
Voice 4: I wrote one area of blue, so that she is getting so upset.
Voice 2: It remains impossible, the ground, as he speaks.
Voice 4: I must show myself and form a faint erratic movement!
Voice 3: In search of memory.
Voice 2: A long line of that.
Voice 4: My book is angry, refuses it, a sphericity which moons at the animals, leaning against tons of time and forlorn arches; relation to reply.
Voice 1: Rocks of colour.
Voice 2: Dripping on the stone.
Voice 4: It remains impossible.
Voice 3: The black comes, fetishism across the decision.
Voice 2: A stream, a line of nothing, to be very technical.
Voice 1: An expansive tree.
Voice 2: A butterfly in heaviness of movement.
Voice 1: Changing light bounces the extremity of fire.
Voice 3: Dirt roads between trees.
[pause]
Voice 1: Chrome quality.
Voice 4: One manages to be a field.
Voice 3: Presence too subservient for quick return.
[pause]
Voice 1: By the black comes more description.
Voice 4: This is inert.
Voice 3: Not now evident.
Voice 1: The world in a you.
Voice 2: That should be a hierarchy spreading out each morning to density.
Voice 1: And the ring of fire rises from the rich fields.
[pause]
Voice 2: He says he recognised a high backed chair.
Voice 1: Momentum.
Voice 2: Barbed wire.
Voice 4: Variations from this remain impossible.
Voice 3: All then vanishes completely.
Voice 2: You can make the decision.
Voice 1: I could sleep more.
Voice 2: This is the version to be pulped he is told, his head where she drops from interesting developments, made of paper.
[pause]
Voice 3: Enveloped within himself, he hesitates, warm in heaviness of pigment and impacted in heaviness.
Voice 1: It is inert.
Voice 3: Even my son might be broken machines, but gathering speed and beauty, impossible in heaviness.
Voice 4: I'll teach you.
[pause]
Voice 1: Utters dripping on the contrary.
Voice 2: I flew here.
Voice 4: The words are inaudible.
Voice 3: Position all of the world in a picture.
Voice 2: Moons at the edges.
[pause]
Voice 3: She is a tower.
Voice 4: The existence of blue.
Voice 1: The many diseases of a light.
Voice 2: A plight less silence.
Voice 3: He knew of the world.
Voice 1: The variations are unknown.
Voice 2: A crumbling pond.
Voice 1: Sexy the movement.
Voice 4: Intensity in all things.
Voice 1: Close up a deserted farm.
Voice 4: And the laughter of blue is the instant ear.
Voice 3: And genetic itches are contrived for it.
Voice 2: A small stone wall concurs.
Voice 3: And his original knowledge.
Voice 1: He's like smoke.
Voice 2: Think you need more grey there.
Voice 2: Round the cabbages.
Voice 3: Slug pellets carefully set in heaviness of memory.
Voice 1: A fly singing songs about him.
Voice 3: She drops from this.
Voice 4: She is destroyed, and again.
Voice 2: He's ready to his head.
Voice 4: In the wording of music is not joke.
Voice 1: To sing pushing its beak between the worst in language.
Voice 4: Her I am.
Voice 1: Outside the bird is a tower.
Voice 2: The biggest.
Voice 4: A curl of the bird.
Voice 1: To disintegrate.
Voice 4: Flee your interpretation of colour.
Voice 1: It sings inaudibly an embedded nest of colour.
Voice 4: The version to his hands.
Voice 1: Kicking him with breath.
Voice 2: Inside a thick fire.
Voice 3: Choice of viewpoint.
Voice 2: They said what we need.
Voice 1: I practise asking for being recognised.
Voice 3: Suppose a sphericity.
Voice 1: The current status of her.
Voice 2: She eats a line of fathers.
Voice 1: The light from this.
Voice 3: A picture rolling down an embedded fire storm.
Voice 4: Land with writhing feet.
Voice 1: What is a tower.
Voice 4: His head and body is heavy.