Monday, April 23, 2007

Three more from "thirsty poems"


can you guess what it is yet?

yes, it is better to hide your gift of love when
first you come up to, approach, the vast body

beauty is all that, and more, which you can’t encompass

...on the intrados the etchings, the
aqueduct goes on its arch proliferating but
neat, but on the intrados the marks, they
refute all laws of construction they dispute
structure claiming sovereignty for the irreducible—
all we ask is that you for us grant a body...

I am the sort of person who apologises to children this
in and of itself must commend me to the behemoth


can you guess what it is yet; slow developing like the
colour of wings if you happen to be lucky with the sun, with eyes

...the arc of the intrados can not span the
rift, the shrouded rift that gnaws on the ham
let, the bucolic alcoholic hamlet, the
extradosesque bully is also of no use—
something this big can never be loved can
never be lovely such a body such extra
vagance whilst we muddle on with our many-breach, leaking...

luvva, you built our house with the insides out

-----

class issues

girls now aren’t girls nice the way they are in
spotted skirts, striped shorts, check their trousers?
and
boys, aren’t boys nice too the way they follow on in
packs, watching, haunches rising and fall?
and
squirrels, darling little squirrels, decimating the green of
sticky shoots, dispatching their detritus down
and
the mad so picturesque menacing those others with a jelly
knife off their heads on mental medicated
but
horrid. oh how horrid was the truncheon, that sound!
it makes! glancing off of a skull, dull, forcing prod, harassment,
in the back room, hands-on-thighs-up-skirts;
bungs, sweeteners, plants and grassers, calling
jimmy a “little pouf” and jenny a lesser who loves
“it really.” they all do apparently, those sluts

why must they be so nasty
to us
just because
we did that naughty thing
yet let that wanky loony well alone
who smelt
and swore—
looking after their own whose
baggy seat was so soiled?

-----

fetish

lip stick sticky mouth is a fetish moon
over astrakhan beach I
rub their nipples with the fake
static shocks up the cellophane sky

pvc fish feel greasy to me now
laid out on my chest no
nowhere near my genitalia how
they beat: flob, flib, flob flab

ground glass sand dunes
wire wool gorse encroaching
slither-shattered black crystal cliffs
leather ship, silk anchor, lithe chain

from the sadist beach hut to the...
you laid your svelte pelt down
“svelte” I whispered
“svelte” responded the responders
“svelte” called out the torso sailors “svelte”
confirmed the actual crab a
single pearl quivered immaculate up
on the arid lip of your inner calm
contained within tension, your poison. “mmm,
yes,” you purred, “svelte. will you do my back?
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