It is said that the bow is broken by being kept constantly strung and bent: but if occasionally relaxed, retains its elasticity. – From a letter to Isambard Kingdom Brunel, by A. Hill of Plymouth Iron Works, Merthyr Tydfil, Wales, 1858, a year before Brunel's death.
Call Victoria’s engineer.
The earth’s so damp, all clogged;
let them drain the bottom swamp
clay-pipe breaks toward
river-deep feat, hard-hatted,
smooth straining hands.
Throw the mud to seal the bell
deep in the delta’s mouth.
Tidal sucks sediment – shush,
shush, it calls his name.
A kingdom burns in the kiln;
the flesh trade smooths out
the longest shipping lanes:
“monstrous abuses,
channel of [release],
upper part of the Float
[thrust] wantonly choked up.”
The earth’s fresh moat.
Supply lines break the new dawn.
Large vessels run aground
via spokes of heart, queen’s brain,
to splinter, to siphon, to sprawl;
shallow maroon mudflats gleam
now, long,
now a long song
under the sun.