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Digital Poetics #6 Minor concerns addressed to the spacecraft: Kat Sinclair

When you appeared I was in my pyjamas

devastated, once again

looking for an empty field to scream in

so nobody would come to my rescue,

so I could have my feelings

instead I was disturbed and I don’t care if you’re

very exciting, excessively limbed

I can clamber strangely too

now that you’re here you have to listen

It is as if we were all on a pirate ship

with a hundred planks

walking them all just to feel like

mirage, oasis, blistering ‘tell you about it later’

I would topple if I knew

there was a new board game over there


or a fresh vegetable

We all have memories of places we have never been

you can call it orientalism

or deja vu

or whining

but I remember you like a dream

before I greet you like a handshake

it’s in all the movies

we both are, some of us

The usual crowd we were all weighing up someone’s worth

by whether they had a spice rack

or a spice cupboard

meanwhile there was a meteor shower

or a magician

or a firefly

like it was not his relationship to the means of production

but the exact twist of his smile

we just knew, the meteors just fell

That summer everything was made out of chiffon

as an assault to armpits everywhere

and those operating the machines

who also have armpits

I’ll add it to the reading list –

sometimes it feels like a conversation starter

networking upstairs in a bookshop

just to throw over the sheets and be,

but every day I discover new implements

I check the French Republican calendar so I know what to celebrate

but you want me to toast myself

for managing it – I would rather stand in the corner

texting her, I hate this and would rather be cooking chilli with you

and wait, there is lint in my belly button again

could you help me pick it out

I would rather not

Oh for once in my life, an arrangement of gentle fingers

a bouquet of everything

a paddling pool deep enough

a rubber tree staying as is

those high apple pie in the / sky hopes


or just magnify those ants for hours

we can do without latex, I’m sure

If you could make the album of the year into a sex toy

that would be good,

I wish the woods were bigger

but I am happy they are there at all,

but I wish they were bigger,

the summer of fuck lawns can wait

like a garden gate pun,

but it can’t wait much longer

Last year when we salted some broccoli, heavily

and the smoke settled

on our knees

but I couldn’t care less

about Horkheimer, right then

I only wanted to play it all again

before you had to catch the train to work

and I had to cancel therapy, but don’t tell me that

drifting on determination and delusion

Like let’s go to Canada let’s go to Scotland

let’s go disregard everyone

let’s go tomorrow I am so angry you are so right

all the time

you’re some wild garlic and I don’t know how to recognise you

but I know you’re really great

because everyone says so

and nothing ever happened

because nobody ever mentions it

Want you to backdrop me

a smile against a tree,

herring gull yet to steal,

feeding hand yet to be bitten

still in the infant stages of analysis:

how do I best hold you

how do I best hold my ground

meanwhile she only went and got kettled again

It is the same in every clef:

sleep be with me

and also your breathing sounds

like a podcast, but real

I remember his house

all the clocks were set to four twenty

we are all n00bs here, I choked on it –

join my guild, I’ll explain everything, just come here

When you first arrived I thought you were an omen

but now I see you’re really fucking tired

I’d offer you my hand but I’m double-wielding

just reach into my pocket, take whatever’s there

I don’t remember but it can’t be worth more

than the rolling of a wrist, held

Anyway sometimes my tongue just aches so

I request that nobody wear boots around me

for their own safety

in case of emergency

smash my face in

for justice

I will write a good piece, and forfeit 20%

to a charity of your choosing

this is, I think, the right way to be

or at least it is the right hat to wear, the right way to wear it

I am very new here

I want to step inside

I want to feel the beam of light

I want to carry no belongings

I want to have a field day

I am obsessed

I am convinced

I am reckoning with

I am saying I am

I am suddenly realising

do you understand?


Kat Sinclair is a doctoral student at the University of Sussex, researching the political economy of feminised robots. She is the author of The Very Real Prospect (Face Press and Earthbound Press, 2019) and a number of poorly stapled pamphlets printed in her bedroom. She is also a member of the Devil’s Dyke Network, a queer feminist arts collective in Brighton.


This publication is in Copyright. Kat Sinclair, 2020.

The moral right of the author has been asserted. However, the Hythe is an open-access journal and we welcome the use of all materials on it for educational and creative workshop purposes.

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