The Goddess July
milky liquid swirls down a dry throat like a dirty sink
she's planning out your death on a murderous tongue
chanting strategies--mantras
She steals my shoes
wears them until her feet sweat
where ever you are in this fever
So bloody and blind
Just us please
she's planning out your death on a murderous tongue
chanting strategies--mantras
She steals my shoes
wears them until her feet sweat
where ever you are in this fever
So bloody and blind
Just us please
21 Slices of Life
I dove into your eyes
Son this afternoon
To discover how many twenty-first
Birthdays
Went into you
Becoming clear
For the limitless depths
Shine on you living
Diamond
While September sings
Of falling leaves
And sweeping loose
Reality's twisted cloak
One brick at a time..
Son this afternoon
To discover how many twenty-first
Birthdays
Went into you
Becoming clear
For the limitless depths
Shine on you living
Diamond
While September sings
Of falling leaves
And sweeping loose
Reality's twisted cloak
One brick at a time..
'foal.. verse
mortify · the UVEAL scroll
cancerous · on the VERSE patrol
dark clouds and bright sunshine · swirling
skirling waltz · with one EROSE mole
foal of oryx · Ganesha doll
goes all work · down an ASSET hole
then where is my · supernal skill
bought with spirit · at the LEETS goal
Seawrack
Born nameless stormed helpless
Floating with driftwood evading debris
i shelter in underground passages
with muffled dreams in vacant eyes
frozen eyelashes: iron railings
Your stare, a stain: spitshine on the stone-ledge of almost
untouched water, a pure surface of unblemished skin
And your words fall down the well: flat pebbles
blurred by ripples, soon forgotten--
Your face, tapering off with daylight, eludes me
i miss your sparseness
Almost unsure i'm emerging to see this
unbroken vision of hollow sky and blank sea
i swerve off course and break my bones
as the sun
tumbles down
on deserted dunes
my face topples
down to earth
and crumples with sand ripples
so i forget
the garbled letters of elusion the rumpled sheets of desertion
driftwords floating among debris
I awake to find your eye like a pearl in an eggshell, pregnant with rain
& your voice hidden in tree leaves
A shiver a glance spark off the day
Songs well up into the eyes of the sea
swerve over ridges
unimpeded
as ear buds blossom
your face unfolds forests
unfloods a valley of bent trees
turns on the sun
and lights up a world of almost
unblemished flesh
to outlast the waste
Floating with driftwood evading debris
i shelter in underground passages
with muffled dreams in vacant eyes
frozen eyelashes: iron railings
Your stare, a stain: spitshine on the stone-ledge of almost
untouched water, a pure surface of unblemished skin
And your words fall down the well: flat pebbles
blurred by ripples, soon forgotten--
Your face, tapering off with daylight, eludes me
i miss your sparseness
Almost unsure i'm emerging to see this
unbroken vision of hollow sky and blank sea
i swerve off course and break my bones
as the sun
tumbles down
on deserted dunes
my face topples
down to earth
and crumples with sand ripples
so i forget
the garbled letters of elusion the rumpled sheets of desertion
driftwords floating among debris
I awake to find your eye like a pearl in an eggshell, pregnant with rain
& your voice hidden in tree leaves
A shiver a glance spark off the day
Songs well up into the eyes of the sea
swerve over ridges
unimpeded
as ear buds blossom
your face unfolds forests
unfloods a valley of bent trees
turns on the sun
and lights up a world of almost
unblemished flesh
to outlast the waste
Whortleberry and Goats-rue
The florist Beeves made nosegays for the deaf mute Lela, carefully choosing each flower, then arranging them into exquisite bouquets: Windflowers and Daffodils, Whortleberry and Venus’s Looking-glass, Toad-flax and Teasel, Sweet William and Silver-weed, Persian Candy-tuft and Narcissus, Mandrake and yellow Madder, Larkspur and Ladies’ Bedstraw, Jonquille and Indian cane, Hornbeam and Hawthorn, Goosefoot and Goats-rue, Foxglove and Dodder, Date-plum and Cinquefoil, Chaste-tree and Bugloss, Bladder-senna and Black thorn, Arum and Amaranth. He wove and tweezed them together with the greatest care, never once misplacing a Toad-flax or a Foxglove, a Silver-weed or a Candy-tuft.
The man in the hat like fruit flans, peach and orange, currant and apricot, and Flan O’Brien whom he had read about in a periodical or newspaper. He liked ox-tail gumbo and soda-biscuits and anything that tasted like anis or cloves. Golf he found childish, preferring checkers or trump the fox, a card game he had learned from his great-great grandfather, a Quaker with hairy arms and a coughing laugh. Bunt cakes and tortes and tiny cupcakes with frosting and curlicues, anything baked with Crisco and lard. He ate anything that was put in front of him, mealworms and saltpetered cakes and chocolaty Swiss Rolls rolled in confectionary sugar and shredded coconut. He wolfed down everything within reach, never stopping long enough to chew things, morsels and wee gambits of food, or wipe the crumbs from the fop of his trousers.
Delaney has wheatears. The shamble leg man met Delaney at the crab fry-up on a sunshiny sunny August day. Delaney, bibbed and dressed in a beige serge suit with wide lapels, sat over a table of crabs cracking shells with a nutcracker he carried in a scabbard on his belt. His mouth oily with crab juice, eyes bigger than garlic bulbs. The shamble leg man espied him from a distance, as he was in no mood for pleasantries and how do you do’s. Once Delaney had you in his sights he would chatter on and on like an insufferable fool, and the shamble leg man did not suffer fools lightly. Crabber and Duckworth catered the crab fry-up. Duckworth oiled his hair with garlic butter, gathered into a cone on the back of his head. Crabber was bald, so had no use for oils and hair salves. ‘This is strangely disturbing’ said Crabber, ‘all these crabs and not a shell insight.’ ‘Don’t you mean in sight?’ asked Duckworth.
The man in the hat like fruit flans, peach and orange, currant and apricot, and Flan O’Brien whom he had read about in a periodical or newspaper. He liked ox-tail gumbo and soda-biscuits and anything that tasted like anis or cloves. Golf he found childish, preferring checkers or trump the fox, a card game he had learned from his great-great grandfather, a Quaker with hairy arms and a coughing laugh. Bunt cakes and tortes and tiny cupcakes with frosting and curlicues, anything baked with Crisco and lard. He ate anything that was put in front of him, mealworms and saltpetered cakes and chocolaty Swiss Rolls rolled in confectionary sugar and shredded coconut. He wolfed down everything within reach, never stopping long enough to chew things, morsels and wee gambits of food, or wipe the crumbs from the fop of his trousers.
Delaney has wheatears. The shamble leg man met Delaney at the crab fry-up on a sunshiny sunny August day. Delaney, bibbed and dressed in a beige serge suit with wide lapels, sat over a table of crabs cracking shells with a nutcracker he carried in a scabbard on his belt. His mouth oily with crab juice, eyes bigger than garlic bulbs. The shamble leg man espied him from a distance, as he was in no mood for pleasantries and how do you do’s. Once Delaney had you in his sights he would chatter on and on like an insufferable fool, and the shamble leg man did not suffer fools lightly. Crabber and Duckworth catered the crab fry-up. Duckworth oiled his hair with garlic butter, gathered into a cone on the back of his head. Crabber was bald, so had no use for oils and hair salves. ‘This is strangely disturbing’ said Crabber, ‘all these crabs and not a shell insight.’ ‘Don’t you mean in sight?’ asked Duckworth.
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