Sunday, July 12, 2009

being interview

it was as though moss
had grown over everything
the faces the torsos the carpets and TV

I ran around in the new green vacuum
shaking hands with anyone still alive

them foliate faces sneered back
down in the alley where the mushmen grow
the wind comes on and we start to slow

breaking wind is never straightforward
for adults in company

my old man laughed from the clocktower
heh he said fat remind them fat
is a feminist
I mean like atishoo

it was a joke about a pandemic
that no one got
he'd been waiting with it for years

but I was now in
a reality show

how now to eschew

like this he is cavalier with our safety

his pheromones fill the car
I cannot resist his crash and verve

O take me home before
I wet myself
Jesus is a rally driver
or something
who stopped for a piss
underneath a tree
in which a barn owl
was evacuating

this is why he has that white streak
down his face
in all authenticated photographs

his schoolmates still call him Streaky
though his new gang
are all icky and polite

he hates them really
but they buy him fish
to eat on the forest tracks
where he shoots owls

Jesus he whispers Jesus
there in the fucked frost
of his own south mouth


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