Those months
locked down without air
sleep arrested
to the staccato tic.tac of statistic
choked on virus hold
And now the river in spate | endless turgid brownness
lugging flood-washed debris | a cargo of deadwood and spilth
slopped out foam | of dis-care
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each
I do not think that they will now sing to me
no viral boundaries | this skin
this tin can | leaks like a sieve.
'Balloon' suspended and inflated via ventilation ducting by a fan system driven by an old bicycle and motor. Made largely from recycled, end of life or obsolete materials.
A collaboration with Chris Neal.
Grateful thanks to Anne Cooke and Paul Newcomb from the University of Bristol for their assistance with sourcing redundant equipment.
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