Embedded Files
Clipping Machine
It was me who was hitting me. I
tried to confront him at the end, we
too like a waterhammer, courtyard
clarion, fast but not well, shudders
that engine God, all misdirecting-
mail-and-paring-sense-and-lines-apart
just as gnostic offices command.
As in central was excellent,
on watch and picking out a large
department horizon, and dead
end discharge various too-slow
attempts to get it done. Through hut
wherein the rebuffed me stands blocked
and het where were one two and three
stuffs elsewhere then. He was mocking
in the window. Right while with she
very beautiful building shoot-
-out, I was dream, feeling weirdly
we, confidant, track us, then, down
up on the roof. And she turned watched
carefully, I, trying to load
deliberate plan or to know
who I forget, another stock
in pistol mainly, for I was
aiming, fight with me in my sights.
A particular coming for
us. I, outside, I said something
enemies, something we set. We
started others to remember.
Levelling, belligerent, me
in part hammering my head bumped
into the arrived. And I, my
own barrier to the match, was drunk,
drunk and like a city spree
from the dive café where this
house was the range. I last week
confronted him, he and one
young man were going to
who hated me. Story
almost done in bits I
came to the conclusion
that had such a shame
accounted and pushed
in a line at me,
sent up such a scene
again was sense
we knew would head
to key killing
the surrounding
area
and hit me
in the home,
carried, gone.
If I would with someone hard,
it was as prepared to go
I wanted, to these people
in store so crowded.
Movie-like in shape, we were
vivid at the end, fairly
clear, me feeling politics
mistaken, tried not to talk,
hiding in well, nailing
in lead, hitting London.
I was clear but others
all over young undone.
Information travelled light.
Here came reactionaries.
And up in the essential traps
like the deep no one would oppose
my splicing of the shreds, but place
their purpose similar to be.
I got right,
driving to a big
structure, detonate and stress
test other real far
woken sites.
Tom Vaux lives and works in London and Berlin. His poems have been published in Action, Spectacle, the OSP Review, and the Australian magazine Island.
Copyright © 2026 by Tom Vaux, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.
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