puzzled pieces by Matthew Duncan is a curious palette of many contrasting cultural threads and surreal sensory impressions. In his spiralling word labyrinth, there is always an element of the baroque theater meticulously forged like Siegfried’s sword. Matthew’s swirling and visionary poems often feel like an uncanny virtual reality immersion into a Roberto Matta painting. The atmosphere of this kaleidoscopic universe is often filled with a foreboding and expressionist unreality of things (the illusion stretches across a sea of reality). This powerful dramatic impact is often softened by numerous references to high energy physics and philosophy, often quite Taoist in feel. The poet blends edgy confessional energy and outlandish giallo undertones (murder is a glamorous art and glamour is murderous; i never knew hell could feel like heaven; damage taste so sweet.) so skilfully, it’s easy to imagine oneself traversing different dimensions simultaneously. The reader remains a lost soul amidst ubiquitous glares of smartphones, city lights and the subdued - almost patrician - fading colors of Seattle.The illusion of choice in a two party political system whose policies (US foreign policy in particular) is also an interesting theme in (aptly named) puzzled pieces. Neither aristocrat nor elected official hold true power anymore since the population of docile lemmings is only capable of imbibing fleshly, carnal, sensationalist media headlines and feel good twitter snippets: propaganda, pornography of parchment paper-carnage of hollow words.not justified-neither right norleft in the marginsremain;the remains of truth.The chaos without corresponds to the chaos within. Therein lays an endless primordial universe of possibility and creation. The poet reinvents himself as the true Magus who confronts the cold desolation of infinity and bends reality to his Will. He finds safety in liminal spaces, mirrors, smells, sounds, substitute intimacy of cyber relationships, fallen angel lore.image or echo, our short-sighted scopeis always fixated on dark stars.Limitations of logic and time being a non-linear constant weave a wildly imaginative Ariadne’s thread of subatomic mysteries throughout puzzled pieces. time, deeply bronzed and luxurious, sank sharpened teeth into daylight-offering onlycold comfort and colder shoulder.Ultimately, it’s a view of reality where life and death are equally confined by a decaying universe and our hope lies in the alchemical putrefaction of hope its
