OK, NOW GO: recurse through records

counter-clockwise, gripped by asymptomatic

mal d’archive, unfinishable business.

Ten years is nothing; stand by for second

childhood, fuzzed remonstration squawling

through cochlear-implant, bending the mind’s ear

towards its asymptote. Don’t turn

around now - what survives

in us is barely recognised as love.

* * *

I wasn’t sure whether to count “mal d’archive” as two word-units or three. I decided on two, on the basis that a) I’d count “don’t” as one, and b) the English translation of the book of that name is called “Archive Fever”.

“I Will Survive” was for some time the unofficial anthem of Somerville College, Oxford, back when it was an all-women’s college (that is, up until about ten years ago). It used to get played at the end of “bops” in the Somerville student union. This is sort of a red herring, but I guess you could say it forms part of the overall context of the poem.

“Don’t turn around now” = unheeded good advice for Orpheus.