or The Feasibility of Orbs
Let blue and green go hand in hand
Through time's salt marsh; and try
To separate the pink and white
The rosy dawn from snowy night
The sorry dark from lack of sight
Let thou and I go mouth in mouth
Through twisted valley's tongue
To salivate deserted beaches
To adumbrate pre-polished reaches
Scour enamelled stones; she teaches
Let cows and oxen, foot by foot,
Explore recesses, vestibules
To speculate on windy stairs
Where Hurricano says his prayers
And Serbs cavort in palsied pairs
On slanting mules
Though more astute.
Let fields run home and streams run dry
Let drought descend and drown our lives
Let iridescent nails dash all
Let screws deflate the punctured ball
Revive our lives and, ne'er-do-all,
Blunt the knives
(What Cod would fry?)
Let life and death flit softly by
What care I?
Let heat and cold exchange their views
In times of crying there cries she
These crimes of tying up the maid
Collecting grudges long since paid
Purloining poultry lately laid
Are trivial to me,
I shun such news.
Let thou and thine flit softly by
And pass me now a slice of pie
The fishy wind, the private place
No sanctuary in this glass case
The waves of apathy erode
The swinging corpse, the palinode
The swaying cross, Sacheverall
The winds of glory dessicate
The hero's bones; prevaricate!
The carrion flayed re Pentecost
Explorat'ry my aim!
The mists of sanity conceal
The spattered brain, the Cochineal
Of battered Spain, ballistical
The fogs of logic, logic-fogged
The sharper sight, disaster-dogged
The winter night, mysterious
The gas of reason suffocates
The gasping lung which masticates
The lasting gunge liturgical
O anarchy thy wind so clear
Does waft me like a nauseous dream
Of drowning cars in clotted bream
Of crooning cows in soggy beer.
The breeze has kept my larder cool
The rancid foodstuffs, now on ice,
Were practically cowardice -
They played the gooseberry fool.
Vasco da Gama was sterile
Leonardo had no sons
And this may seem pu-erile
But I'm obsessed by buns
And threatened by Portuguese nuns.
The sleeves of crassitude persist
The arms remain the same
I cannot tell her what she's missed
She cannot stomach shame
She cannot, no she cannot
She cannot stomach shame.
I tied her by her pigtails
And I bound her wrists with chains
(Those shackles which were Ishmael's)
Then I pounded out her brains.
I lashed her to the harpsichord
And knotted all the pegs
She lay there on the ironing-board -
I flattened out her legs.
I crammed her through the letterslot
The postman creeping nigh
Said `Squeeze here, that's a better spot' -
I bit into her thigh.
I'll tesserate her tonsil,
I'll steal her epiglottis
A violenter response'll
Show me where her rot is.
Madam will you walk?
"No I can't - you've smashed my hips"
Madam will you talk?
"If I could - you've razed my lips"
And still I love her more than all
And still I'd walk a million miles for a smile or an embrace
Oh, how I love her more than any
Watch me climb a gross of trees for a tear or for a wink
Let's forge our link!
I leave her in the mornings
(With her head unscrewed for safety
From low and sharpened awnings)
Her bellowings are hefty.
She lunches now with Ishmael
There's nothing she should lack
Save rhymes so, so abysmael -
I've split her down the back.
At evening lopes she seaward
In odd, five-legged wise
And keeping to her lee-ward
I crunch her tasty eyes.
As night falls on the cliff-top
I roast her breasts in wine.
I love her like no other man
(I store her limbs within a can)
And here concludes my daily plan:
I suck her fleshy spine.