Tuesday, January 30, 2007

ad ugly damn diction

this no damn chinaman got me
no hepkat whore pours yellow ozone
back up my veinhome, this a German-French
sailor gripes my throat-gag

we know it in our grain-fathers
and the seepage of our guts

it is known likewise that we put on undergarments
as a sacrificial layer against the clear fact that we leak,
to protect others and ourselves we meet from the contagion

only for the dying dying,
like those others, those Irish-Iberian boilers
who came for the richness, the black loam and foam,
the Black Forest rides to the White Hart of Celt-death
of all I want out I want O I want out now
(but best perhaps not to mention any outer layers
for we have none here)

Beaker People come home
and your beds disturbed
your seed blows ravaged
so make it right with your fire

Beaker People I don't mean you
I mean those others who cry on the wind, those others

Beaker People, it's not really you
I'm calling to, but those others like you
who sing through the channels -
I don't know their names those others

fire magic make it right
with your fire magic make it right
with your fire magic make it right

whip the wind of its lies
and put back the lost things recovered

at what expense we here
I want out of.