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'Skip rocks over the surface. Dive straight down to the bottom. Come up for air. Break the waves in vessels. Tan the skin on sand—the wedding bells of beer cans. Shovels and buckets and pans—pile the shore make rivers, drive rivers through dune, through land. Walk the shore, a lover, lover of wave on feet: the tock-tide lap-drag curls under foot. Bury me here, hair combed by crab claw—hair of waves, the naked hand, the gill-eye and the trap-net-tow. What language unfurls from the skin-tongue and the lung-tone in the puckered mouths of fish? The knocking of bones on the seabed, the dream-speech of air-mulch, the dull round of bubbles, the say-shape that wrenches from lip-gates and rises to sky-sheets under the fire of the sun. I want to know what it is to have begun rather than this middling of square-feet, anchors of bone-hooks and dry-mouth and hump. Whale song in the whoring of blood-pump, the sea pours forth from forked legs and the whale bone goes soft in rough hands. I've worked myself to death for two round coins. Now pretty the raft and set me alight and push me off into the done-home.'
Cellsea is an extraordinary new book of visual poetry by Sacha Archer, author of Mother's Milk (Timglaset, 2020, sold out). These rubber stamped pieces takes you out to sea and into the cell. The book has two covers, can be read in two directions and ebbs and flows like life itself.
Published by Timglaset Editions
148 x 148 mm