Tuesday, March 16, 2010

everyone you haven't slept with since

I can give a cat an orgasm—Germaine Greer

what that little tent was all about:

Mr Wolf allegedly to be summoned
by code-knocking on the fire surround
—in the tool store a World War Two
Commando assault craft—mephitis
of perished rubber she had crinkly hair
affected still—the derelict flapper look
what that little tent was all about
in front of the gas fire after the bath
—black and white TV memory 1969
the Eagle landing one small tent
for a man—cigarette smoke that stuck
to the cold bathwater—1930s perfume
the boy sat there—Craven A cigarettes
in some adult game wearing just underwear
which boy maybe both boys years apart
heard hollow of the little tent its connection
in wolves and Vikings maybe both
from opposite ends of the tunnel
looked down and became frightened
of George a heavy fancyman with iron grip
at the flappers the rubber wolf
that scratches in the night hole behind
—the wall where men in perished static
from St Nazaire at shoal depth we cringe
back from the night's defences away
...from the history behind the knocking

from the little tent both of us panicky
awkward across years fumbling to break the signal


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