Flamingo, urchin, bestiaric beast:
Paroling city matters, you re-form
From pigeon’s dirty feather to a quill.
A parlour game: we reach the dovetailing
Between those singing spasmic pities that
We summon, and the dank urbanity
You wreak. It comes to punish this reserve.
Love: whether zoo, circus, menagerie,
All matters of a name more so than form,
Let us rush towards autowilderness,
Strifed with wet, chaostic humours. 1
Erotic prescience : I sense us : one.
We’ve taken flyte, so let us rest in shelter,
Into the original of the world,
Nothing can stop our loved country from mattering.
There is a woman turning a woman turning
Sick hydra starting up I dream
of sea becoming seaworthy to sea
The sea drownsy in its offensive capability
Drownsy Baby thirsting in its sleep Hush now
Totemic fetish or mnemonic logo : her offensive cheep : untid’ly starting
up for the tide : cheap
You cannot scry in your own silver when
its ripples split the vision
They cannot peer into a depth they’ve mined and filled
Selfsang in their own gags Dull drams overfilled
Eat your eyesight, bastard Ring yourself unfit
Q: Where has this water gone? Why disappear?
A: Add an arch to the middle of valour. There’s your answer.
In the mean time, build a city Then build a countryside
Now, not sea at all They become
ardor’s coldened shoulder Ardor eccentric
Throttling at different purposes and speeds.
An altared state urned in a loss of verse
Severed then served with coming of the morning
My love has earned this insurrective swerve
That seeks to crash the calming of his mourning
You rest inequality
If I was embedded in a painscape, it’d be different
Q: Where do you rest?
A: Camped out
in the bedazzled house
of his runtish fantasy
His House Believes …
As it is now, there is
an asterisk to every kiss
Let me rest
in that nest of those pink, electric branches
There, there is safety
To have a handle on something is to have the capacity to turn
it on or off
What I cuse him of I cuse myself
When they are together, their shape
is endless and content
The sea drinking the sea The sea is drinking
The vulvic octopus dies with her young
Meanwhile, I: waste with my youth
The staggering dear does not accept my hand,
fawning and shrill. Cast off from my ilk, my hart.
Dysgenic bodie’s calling back to you,
Consumed and mated. Her dysphoric flesh;
Locked within your own twin study; She’ll
do anything, at last, to prove your bad.
Gravity holds each wave in vassalage.
Without gods, there is none mastered;
O gypsum child: I see through your age,
Such wind wrinkles water alabastered.
Fair Access more than anything
: I wish them will
THE GARDEN OF LOVE’S SLEEP
After Messiaen’s Turangalîla
Dinner is poured Then: his hand on mine –
Of two green peacocks
Pouring smooth grails of touch
Each across the other
Necks arched in extravagant,
Insomnia swells a congealing city
Congests each head with phrases:
‘A horse called Horus or just Birdy’ ‘A wine press named War on Earth’:
Those haute contour contraptions from the ancién French regime
Áwake Who is with me? Whó
The colours’ ruffles from sunrise
Each by each?
When we talk about Manifestos
I feel white
Doves sprung from a Magician’s
Sleeves on sleeves
In this state
And at this event
On open caboose On train to Vladivostok
Mosquitoes are breeding quickly in the dark
Clouds’ petticoats uncross Cross again
Flashing the sun from which we cannot hide
Which catches us
Spoiled and sticky
Like Love’s Sunday
The emperor’s clothes are very beautiful and they
Are very real I remember them like the song
That climbs back to me in snatches: Harbouring
The antiseptic beauty ` Harpooning
the August moon Haranguing
the something something something Noon
Have we slept? I’ve found us
Flabberghastly Clean and glamorose
Like the courtesan who appears here
And all other places in a new state
age dress civility
Having forgot the crashing sound of a beating door
The stench of the night closing in
Endarkening O Carrion!
Something beautiful arrives!
The equal weightéd phrase
That leaves your mouth and the sky
At the same time