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From "Moths", Part 2: Dip


Second


and believe me I would get-up-and-go-out now spilt on streets as if tar came from a cauldron rainbow throated like petrol on a puddle is and I am still living still solvent.
let me buy you the flower of an other affair.
one more night its petals are sombre and serrated so to grasp each head in the begging of a fist (say it my fist!) which weep of yesterday’s dawn and tear.

the way they have when they separate
they are we give even as they are taken
and they are flowers and we are nothing
not women not hearts not nothing
nothing of the smut of euphemism about
them only the heady clarity of the scent lets
be nice lets in fact would be overstating it
learn a trait from them just the one.

caught-yards cut with ink and mellow drama dogs lifting strings of legs there here under the red rugs which were your favourites which sway in the heat like fainting which are thread bare and fine oh so fine which are from byzantium and romania which might take us from ourselves and make us better than we are as units in a unit.
not that unit is a romantic word at all which is why.
take a picture or better buy a postcard
bells ring in the brown forest of shops.


doubled windows shudder amongst their discarded flies to think of what?
not all they have seen but better let in the mote-fizzy bars and make a trade.
the bare light upon your face is as the green of may across a hail-whipped slieve I beg you keep it off of mine.
my face is disgrace I think I ruined it with tears I didn’t shed which broke the veins I’ve got in my skin I’ve got these gin blossoms of the red which wasps adopt on their sickening abdomens that dip and dip excitedly their sting above the boozy mush of late autumn apples.
bronzed bookmarks hobble on crowded thighs
a reminder hikes its crate across the breacon beacons.

I see you plant things
unfurling from the pine
pots scuffing
the marble chequer
board (dead afternoon
in the botanist’s lab.
unattended they will devour
even parasites fear them
it is I blonde polyp
bleed from the stamen’s
love’s engorged base which
we all now are the aren’t you?
stranger suddenly leaps to her paws scattering cutlery cascades “how lovely and I love you.”

she needs must swap her life for a giant hoarding above the autobahn announcing she’s here she’s back she’s here she.
please don’t try this at home
it’s just I wonder if you were wise to leave me
alone in this manner like the fur coat abandons
the teak vestibule?
a cat sobs the mouse jeers
for a racquet a ricochet.

see the gate see the gate see the gate.
fear of you being gone like that of not returning redeeming a sodden receipt promises trounce me.
in the logic of the hanseatic scotsman
I betray the jellied interests of the rootginger whiskers.

greece still pins its football stars on its lapels for you bulgaria cries over sentimental accordion music the lizard of the llyn peninsular the elephants of ancient austria! portofino clambers through the bric-a-brac broken down like georgia’s economy brazil is a big as you peru as kind bolivia has your amber eyes the tiny west indies are emerald and spat mote-dashes in them the colour of the argentinean spirits on the smoky boulevard the colour of your hair (how you worried over it the way thailand worries over china) welcome to the armenia of your smile drink the musk of your burmese kiss the demands of your bangladeshi tongue your tongue as wet as morocco as hungry as nigeria as deep as the cameroon your hands on my penis the way antartica calls in a reedy voice across wasted seas to the falklands I taste your vagina it tastes as delicate as the herb teas of japan (all of this stolen from thieves so it comes with a kind guarantee.)
australia
new zealand
tasmania
papua new guinea
your hands
your ankles
the soft nape
the bowl of your blue belly.
I kind of almost wish that there were still a persia it would be the tincture of your redfull lips for sure.

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