I've started going to BFI FLARE and there will be reports, but not yet. In the meantime...

ON VIEWING 'MAPPLETHORPE' at BFI FLARE

When we cry for the dead, it is ourselves
We cry for. Images in black and white
Flicker through tears. Sharp bone pale
In the night
Across the years. His memory on shelves

Refrigerated so that it might last
So that the silver printing cannot fade.
Sweat stank on leather each time he got laid
Penis like tender orchid curve carved mast

He celebrated fame and flower and fuck
Worked as a demon with dark angel hair
Love sex chose models and they are all there
Ambition art cash checkerboarded luck.

Faustfisted bargain passion love and fame
Boiled monkey skull will always call its claim.

A sort of meditation on talent, and genius, and self-assurance. Prompted by Mapplethorpe

Fame spurs magnetic gravity dark pull
Scorpion whip stings poison gets us high.
Goal glimpsed revolves in mineshaft or the sky
Strings nerve to Braggart knowing never fool.

You know them when you see them. Glitter dust
Features in eyes before their work is done
Chosen beloved be Mused. Not everyone
Who does good work. Theirs is the work we trust

That we see coming fated as a train
On iron tracks that rushes swift as light
Of rocket starshower. Burns out? It might.
Leave gold ash glory. Something will remain

Envy bite this. Work's good but theirs is more.
Rest cannot know we last but they are sure

And a poem prompted by knowing I was going to see REBEL DYKES OF THE 1980s a few hours later

BELLTIME

Belltime black spark.Joints passed on iron stair
Red smear kiss quick in mirror broken glass
Love sudden random hand deep on your arse
Splashed stale smoke lager sweat in short blonde hair

Mandala painted leather. Broken zips
Open to breast dark armpit sudden heft
Hand clutches. Know who made love when they left
Who sweated lonely, memory on lips

Which did not follow through. Until next week.
Two years we cycled through and lust around
Went love hate glory pain. The things we found
And then the music. Memory's a tweak

Pinches old scars. We danced there for a while
Now gone to weep the tears that make us smile