25.3.17



Who put you in charge?
Hush, only I was home
Home alone?
Here all by myself.
So happenstance we met?
If happenstance is what you're happy naming it, be it.
You'd fiddle it fate?
There's error there?
Just circumstance. You're a citizen of substance? Where is it?
It's fickle. For now it gathers flowers, being of a romantic bent.
I hadn't guessed it.
It hides, fearing the world fades it.
The sun is strong shining these parts
It bites me
A brute
It bridles
Cow it
It calfs
Conundrum! Where can this ever end?
There's a music to it
The way the words come out. It's winking when it's wooing but it's woeing when it's waneing
Read it
It runes all the time
Taste it
Tickles,  it fizzes on the tongue.
Will you telly of it?
It squares the eyes. We sat in front of it
In cushions, it cradled us. Some of it touched us, it can.
Have you seen it
Sometimes. The range is lonesome.
I've heard it called
It calls me
It's wide and red and long. It's land, it grasses and rocks and ranges, ridgy
Heather grows there and anemones
Trees muscle it. I roam it. Under me is horse, it's hot and strong. Space, we beast it, hoofs on it, it's animal, I take it, it's land.
You're awful muscly.
Toil earned it. It bulges.
It's brawny
I brute It. So much I lift things.
It goes up and down
Doesn't it
Forget it. Think it again.
Here recedes indefinitely don’t it?
Want it elsewhere. Dare it.
Sun after sun
Its eye against us, they’re days
Its dying I day it, and I day it again
Its destiny do it
I daren’t it
Then do it all again.


It’s why you can’t be captain, your bad bits keep leaking out.
1.
I call him the Imposter, his horse looks just like mine.
That’s your hoss Buster and if you ain’t been in the saddle, then where in tarnation has you been?
I comes and goes, other actors take the stage.
            Where goes it?
Gathering. It looks for another. Sits on the moon sometimes, or swims
To deep ocean’s dark bottom
            Well I’ll be
Bird shapes in the branches, quick call, come go, kiss kiss, toodleloo. Wings go up and down.
Tailfeathers.
            It keeps talking
It’s my ride, he’s rash
            Saddlesore
I suppose you could call it that. I call him the Lobster, he snaps.
            I might too if I were being boiled alive.
Sitting on the step sometimes, trying to remember how to dream,
With the woodpigeons drowsily waiting in the garden, while blackbird sings.
And the wren whips through the leaves of the ivy
Out and in, swift eye, peering through the ivy
Then into the air, is gone.

            It’s a sad song.
It’s written in stone, wrought in wreaves, graven and goodgiven, not the soot and smut you’d stand it for. Whitens in mist, or when clouds cloak it.
            Don’t darken it.
Night comes.

2.
            Speak plain mister
It’s speech? It smells right? It’s funny, I felt it so. It froths. You deem it amiss?
It turns that way, over the pink muscle
of the tongue. Eye it
Its markings, machine-made,
It spins.
            That’s gun talk
I took off, I’d gone inside, to the pale gums of[L1]  it, in the grinders
where it gets it, how it falls out
in the breath.
            It’s all chewy
I grafted it myself
            I done my part
You played your part I spun my art and out of earth picked poetry
            Pah! Paltry, my Poppy
            could pipe better/
Pipe down, I gust it, my facts were misconstrued. I hatched it
from the start, a great yolk, all of it, a wheeze, a lark, a ruse.
A starling, a stork and a mistral thrush, a wren, a seabird too
            Say, an albatross
Morbid destiny, the error won’t be obviated. It hangs as physical weight and the heart
has to work harder. It drags downwards, it slows the step, it palsies the hand.
            So you can’t shoot straight>
Sin started it
            That’s serendipitous
It sounded sweet?
            Like cotton candy
Sweeten it! I’ll sugar everything. If you hadn’t frightened a face on me I’d have none. Just a mutter among many moaning. You plucked me.
            You was suspicious looking.
The cats called it. I was whistling Dixie, you saw it, drinking my milk
straight out the bottle
            Sure as Dixie’s Daisy
And a slug of whatever he’s having, that’s the spirit. I’ll slurp it, a soupcon, no, scratch it,
a six-shooter, something I can blow the smoke off of.
            Sure thing Smokey
A sure thing’s a fine thing Dusty, and you can salt your fries with that.
            Sure as Tacos Tuesday.
Totally. It’s a tease. My time was running out. I totalled it, trashed it and traded it in.
            Timeshares are risky business partner
Don’t I know it, it twists
            You can’t trust it
It tricks
            It turns on you
It’s terrible. I’m torn. My pieces everywhere.
            You’re shorn
My fleece is everywhere,
            You’re furless
I’m forlorn.

3.
            What will they call us?
Dialogue of the Soul with an Uncertain American Dimension.
            Of uncertain age
And curious Destiny. Grant it, we two
            Together
Bless it.
            Grant Good’s Grace
Grave it
            It was here written-
And shall it be
            Choose it
I choose it
            A damn fine double act.
Doubtless, I deem it so
            And believe it often
Dream it when I sleep at night
            And waking keep touching it
It wants it
            It’s Totem Truth
Tell it
            It gallops the wide prairie, it cries freedom, wild wind, in her hair.
Taste it
            It’s salty
I seeded it myself.
            It seemed it
Save it
            A toast to your good health-
I need it
            Heartache?
Heard it?
            Each time of hearing my own heart rends anew.
I lost it
            Lately?
Longly.
            Lonely?
Only
            O that I could-
Calm it, I couldn’t keep it, cool it, it simmers by itself.

4.
I’m Ham Spam
            I’m Hawaii Spam with Pineapple Pieces
Aloha Hawaii Spam
            Hullo there Ham Spam
Let’s spickle candidly
            True, we’re tinned that’s the nub of it, the meat is all inside
Uncan me!
            Could we?
Our virtue’s all within.

5.
            I’ve unstitched him. His meat is all without
You’ve nobbled me. I’ve nubbed it. My innards are out, I’m opened, but strangely see
The true nature of all things, it spreads before me
            You’re lunchmeat.
I’m pink but I’m curious. It’s recursive and wafts in waves. It’s sliced in stacks see it?
            (he speaks profound) It’s piecemeal, can it be stuck together?
In kind, I think, it’s complicated. Each lozenge can be elongated. They’re tongue-like
            Poke it out, unfurl it
It has a certain grandeur when it’s folded
            It’s Alpine
It has its high points
            It peaks and troughs it’s true. Is it terminal?
We’re numbered in days, calendars, we tear off the pages, till it tells one day’s December
            It darkens
We depart.

 [L1]

16.3.17



Deference bows the body
Servility is bad posture


Yes, you left it here
                                   O dear
                                            Can u keep it for me or will you
                                            smerk it?
I don’t smerk. I’ll kerp it.

Listen to yourself/who’s there
_;            who                 -

Take it from here/ I’ve grown used to it. It’s a burial site.
The dead chatter, round the roots of the yew trees, and the white stone
in the soil. Planted. Old habits die hard. Drifting
on the other side, haunting the air like smoke.

It still means something to the people. Inside their hearts
wriggling. ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff it sucks the air out of me.
Operational serfdom in all but name, the groove cut deep-
You don’t know you’re doing it, but you do.
What is a people? A way of doing things. It declares itself
in the droop of your shoulders, in the curvature
of your spine. It’s bent the bones of you, it’s written
all over your face. Servant caste. A larval world, downstairs.
Intrinsic. A system of relationships holds, despite the disappearance
of the old infrastructure. Who owns it?

Listen to yourself/who’s there
_;            who                 -

whispers.
Dig it out. Voices various police. They say hold back. Arrest
this moment. Terror. The truth is cruel in laughter. Hardness
is the thing. We bump into it. The city limits. The margin of us
so far, and no further. Tantalising. We can always see further
than our feet can take us.
It’s so beautiful outside.