slake
a Byzantine lattice is
daring a honeycomb
over the street below.
in its doorway sits
a reservoir faint with turbulence, stained
beneath the surface with oxide.
the house turns
inwards, towards
its interior made of salt.
and what of its dimensions?
a labyrinth spins
in a pale mineral cup.
time centrifuge, timeplasma.
on the hill
a dome turns verdigris
while sitting on four
eyelids slaked with lime.
the adult lamb being led by
cries into these cataracts of sound, begging
the architecture for more than a chorus.
over brushed metal
food passes between hands
as swiftly as laughter can turn
on the pivot of a dare
before the leap
before a fall, to
a conclusion
or looser soils.
the shepherd
just turned fourteen
straddles his fresh sacrifice.
driving an iron down the foreleg, he
cleaves flesh from fleece, which
he then inflates like a balloon.
a gentle flossrip as layers
come apart, and five cuts
set the fleece free.
finally
drawn off
and draped, the
garment has no senses.
the soil darkens
beneath his labour, to
witness what grows.
this leaf, this
branch, this
plant is a migrant also.
this stem, this
curlicued ear
houses history, and
is eaten
by those who live
in history’s houses.
the plateau
of another faith
extends its dry hem
to a Frey.
and the desert turns away
from its beloved
showing the length of its spine
enough to recall them back again
and dare over, again.
—Tarik Ahlip
Tarik Ahlip is an artist with a background in Architecture. His practice is mainly sculptural, informed by an interest in language and poetry.
Then, closer at Reading Room, Melbourne, Sep-Oct 2019. Documentation: Andrew Curtis
Then, closer at Reading Room, Melbourne, Sep-Oct 2019. Documentation: Andrew Curtis