Tuesday, May 29, 2012

the wild joyous stink of everything

this is a dead smell
a lay-low smell
a silvery zing of carrion is in this
reek across the houses-half-human, visionary
an underworld sonar revealing the activity
of tissue wastage.four dead days, no more.but then
the deposition of de-clawed badgers at the roadside
from speeding cars.alcohol and the hugeness
of that almost-teenage, almost-world.
the human hands of moles.the froth.the mephitis
of punctuation sent alongside as mere outriders
merely to announce
all of this disaster again

with the slit window in the gritstone wall
with the delfs like trolls upon the hillside
with the bird unrecognisable upon your antenna
disturbing your reception
with the sun low, deep and steep, flat
with the bat that squats upon your heart now

this poem will not ever again write itself

I got to give you: that's fast

just mouth to mouth like utter starfish
everything ending everything in the sheer abandoned badger clamp-
kiss.yeah, London calling.


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