for Keri Glastonbury
As far as I am concerned

the black swan of trespass is permanently

on loan to you – you have earned it

by getting the body – orifices and all –

onto the page; by navigating your poetic

dog past the law and those delightfully placed

mince-ball baits. Over and over

as I turn them, your clean white A5's make me fall in ink-

soiled love with a clitoral wit and insouciance so concerned

it hugs itself. I want to be in your coterie

of one. I want to be the one

whose legs split for you as wide as the skin

of the compost banana that made us laugh

that uncomfortable quiet-in-the-mountains

morning-after at its unsheathed penis-

ity poking from a huddle of eggshell

testicles in the sludge of emptied tea.

And now finished this breakfast of milk-

cold words, whisper some more rude bits into the gash

of my imagination. Really use that smart mouth.

I'm languishing like a swan on her nest – numeral and bent letter of her neck…

I wish there was no world; no language of p's and q's.

I wish we could tell them all what's in your little book of poems:

Lots of unfunny things are funny! There's no such thing as cool!