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Four from Thirsty Poems


I am in too deep this time this thing
defeats me. in as much as it elevates no
I did not read up on conditions in all the usual sources
unheedful—of grape vines, of sooth-sayers—I
walking down the steep incline moss-grass
seeks to trip me crossing rock-beach breaching sand.
true. the plaintive in sight of the jelly fish
—water colour splash; violet, cerise, blue, blue-bottle, blue—
was plaintive enough, upending on the level strand me

these past four days—
men, in anoraks, ginger beards, tiny pups
replete with their pink erections—sounds from the wind negotiate
fat haunches of cloud hatch a brief peninsular of cliffs
like a mushroom the anorak is returning. his beard, on fire!
he staggers, he sings, he assails with his shanty
beaches his vessel on to my vessel
—the caravan shimmies, the portaloo shakes, the portacabin turns to stars—
released the scent of burning butter tweaks the air after
all, who can predict the fall of objects? contacts is what it’s about in
this game, gingerey whiskered, chance too is elective.

as darkness falls we hand-in-hand we go down we
on jelly-fish strand with out buckets and with out spades
for each we plan that watery grave but high
tide abortions abroad! alone. alone. on. on
a jelly fish free silver of strand
no-beard consoling and he come sailing back. it—

french chateau: golden artefacts

disease, pestilence, decrepitude,
lung explosion, pleurisy
nature here gets to be so extravagant and so gauche

I should never have hooked up with friedrich an
unstable character if ever I saw one those
things he said, messing with my mind like a wanker

a golden artefact ikon, of stability? the
white wooden rockin’ chair wide based, scrolling,
detail, white-abandoned on the chateau patio

decadence lead to a second transmittance.
blockading we are dying here, starving out of our
minds! easily disease is our intellectual equal.

friedrich rocked malevolently on the morning of it
fingertips arched nostrils flaring paper left unread I was
wrong I never should have doubted friedrich, a

man of genius he is and of persuasion, a real trooper
those last words he gasped, holding out, they linger on:
“disease, pestilence, moy-der!” we are letting nature take his course.

mmm. will I? will I sell the king louis chateau or keep it on me?
yes, to sell it off and take the cruise but keep the chair, a golden
time’s artefact, stability glimmering. comfort fading into evening.

our candidate!

so, are you just going to lounge there all day, upset, like massimo in his jungle palace all petrified and alone by being subordinate to the pleasure of a suitcase abandoned in the marble lobby?

or, are you not just going to lounge there all day, upset, like massimo in his bungled palace all putrefied and alone by being subordinate to the treasure in a suitcase left unattended at the station arch?

the closer you get to it the more you
want to run from it I know it’s alright it’s
that’s right let it go let it all come out but;
also, pull yourself together and stop snivelling and
step right up there, like a pencil, slap your
soepoena on the desk and ring that bell!

the more the missive is allowed to hog the stage door with its replies and requests, these fulfilments and dockets and invoices/invitations, the more we think we need you (its hideously unmanly rulings are frankly an affront to...)

the further you get from it the more you find you
love it and you get dizzy there, and sick like a
dog is sick on the petitioner’s shoes that’s right
mister, love is like that and you are right to shun my
comfort and my arm and choke back tears don’t give way to
the dogged sentiment of all of it, hey, skulk back there,
here, like a paint brush mislaid, and dousing the sound with a cloth

the carp pool franchise scandal, in full!

a man would watch a bird catch a bird
would lean and think thoughts
forgive leszek his part in the
carp pool franchise scandal,
a woman would watch a fish snag a fish
would crouch and feel feelings
forgive aszka leszek’s part in the
carp pool franchise scandal.
a frog would leap and thus be growing wings
in this world where thinking it will make it so

in a cavity in a forest one
lethal ancient beast is born
with prehensile capabilities
one thousand million years in abatement
shivering in depleted layers of bodies fat,
a man might shake a stick at it
a woman might cast a glance a stare
a frog will smile and make for itself a friend in
some world where thinking it could make it so.

aszka and leszek break for the borders of their convincing and convoluted alibis showing to be a sham poisonous carp will forever dwell in filth on their mutual conscience there is blood on their hands (actual blood, metaphorical hands) washing clean in the liminal swamp, y’know, where the eviscerated amphibians aspire and scream.

to be continued...


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