III.
I pierced a whale-song with our living, manufactured

in the sobriety of Discontent. Candied language

brewing in stuck tics – nose the tide you take me for.

Disembodied disembarked. The wind waves a little

dive over the cut finger, convenient Neanderthal

flesh gets gulped by the dream of the living.

As though poetry is where it’s really “at”.

Lilac scales drip out of the dreaming mouth: fish

oracle. Window daughter divines an exclamation mark

out of NO PRISON out of unclaimed time. And the

solarised cup smashes on the tinder of our wanting

unknown & precise & beautiful though we keep

it to ourselves, like we hardly reveal to each other

the frill of our cunts. Pale plastic saints of blind

asking. How do oranges levitate on water. A room

is a planet a heart is a dildo an alabaster is a torn

strip running. Endless whys make up our childhood

& we’ve forgotten the answers. Sun nudges his

vertebrae into a flower rodded with pink inferno

smear. Elastic breathes a taut sigh, as we do.

We = forced to sup a brawl lament. We =

stacked on knowledge gaping. The index turns

& whirs: ah energetic starting again with each

morning ah self-index recovering from a blunt

line. Creep across the earth in full bliss-ignorance,

too starved to fake it. I am only ever the blue throttle

                                      when she comes through me

                  shinning my guts like so many solar panels

Flash of silver Eyes & hard engagement she rinses all

intensity with her own pearl blankness, engorged

with flowers & riding over the dashed day with hooks

for frowns with sallow weeds for trophies with poverty

for aces with battered words for armour, she is bound

to charge across each of our faces at the battle-lines,

unrecognized in flame