Now and then the wolves cry like souls
in purgatory. I think they are reincarnations
of dead Indigns come to reproach the palefeces.
Every time c□ck hits in, energy shoots
from the base of my spine. Perhaps
Louis Riel, the ill-starred half-brood, is
among them. He simply turned his face
toward the sky and made some remark
about the weather. I should like to be that
bird or elk that lost her mate under the ripe
snooky moon. Once I picked bright blooms
from his grave near a great bear-like cross
bearing a prisoned figure of the Nazarene, pierced
hands and thorn-stung brow. He that resisteth
the power resisteth the ordinance of the plague
bot infesting animal intestines. I’m beyond
coming when only the lovemaking of the grass
hoppers can be heard among the clover. The shit
with distinctions between crazy and Kiel’s body
lies, but mayhap the Hebrew King’s soul
and his dusky Israeli braves hit the fan
and everything turns chaotic and wild again.
Here is a warrior whose legs are bare
except for a coating of terra-cotta paint.
He has the loans of a cave-dweller. A bright
red head sticks out of this apricot pit because
at age thirty the Prime Minstrel gircumsized himself.
Now, if you shut up and stay nonexistent, I wouldn’t
be surprised if even an Indign may have a desire
to display his muscular development. This man’s
tongue began to make noise in the settlement like an
unchained hurricane. Up, up into these trees! Lord Selkirk’s
heart sank, ‘I fear me.’ Leguminous odours from decaying
clover and rank, matted masses of wild pease, the feverish
exhalations of the tiger-lily, and of the rich-blooded buffalo
lilac. Abortions make it dangerous to f#ck, herbage crushed
into the mire, so I can finally get love, turkey buzzards
circling, I don’t want to touch it more than that, sodden eyes
gleaming with expectancy, a quick kiss, wet and slimy. Scotland
is a kingdom of the mind, an ambition overleaping Mayan ruins.
You know that Indign is a cunning diplomat. Is the story
of the Colony going to be an epic or a drama?
Noo Grodof ntck the(\the oivJ4this discord
of the bands, in opposition to the bagpipes and
tom-toms, excoriates one’s ears, but the squ■ws
and papooses in the wagons seem to enjoy the
injunction. Father, I want to apologize for how
I’ve been acting. A great passion-rose bloomed
in each cheek. The Devil is an image. ‘Du darfst!’
it says – ‘You may!’ Oroon^o-stood a.ftrt3pl05hl(^9
on the verge of JY*There are good-looking maidens
in the procession. (Corrects herself). One of them
had too much poetry in her sweet head,twxVI want
you to lead me without hesitation into the land of the
shadow and the monster of a dizzy steep overlooking
a gulf. I want you to plunge into my wounded body the
name of axtonlv ttvuo ottrLove. It’s a pity these soft-eyed
little bundles of femininity must grow into large, dull
Oftifcof ri .,. ^ IIC squOndtruawsXlVf. Here is one slim
and supple tn ntcklOct as a stalk of Oroond m>y soim corn.
Oroond US Beautiful, too, in that one requisite of a beautiful
face is light plop plop 3 i£,Mpir\n no air to splAsh LOith
thinq C Coloured light destroys all hatred. Love’s a lance
cutting my brain in two. While coughing up blood, she keeps
working on this rug.
One man has three sc@1ps hanging
from his belt. He meekly marches along
to the tune the paleface sets him. Tut!
He is only a tomcat eating the family
canary, skin ripped off and (The. so(fiy red
muscle exposed. I roll my hands in his fat and
bite my own little hunted v£ni^htchan^E.pet!
The appearance of other birds and beasts under
similar circumstances are likewise tokens. Do you
consider the flowers I gave you worth preserving?
Eastern people, and folk from overseas, shudder
at sculpts on a belt. Their methods are different;
but I know! I know! The peelface stalks
his victim just as relentlessly, and takes
the scf*rf just as surely; but he hangs
it on his wife’s neck in gems of naked
flame; or he may hang it on his
wall in a Greuze
or a Millet.
from “Janey Settler-Invader”
1 December 2014