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The Swan Hunt
The fetch: that life must end The fence o’er which gunmen bend The birds toward which their gunshot tends The fetch, the fetch, the fetch to end. Swans turned loose are roundly shot Leaded bodies by hounds are got, to masters brought. Great cunt of Manhattan, glass ziggurats fastness of sun priest Squeezing out malcontents…
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Old Cat Counts Her Winters
Not a leaf as relief from the naked season Sapped of former lustre the fullheaded were strapping as saplings Each thing in its season, springing forth wintering down Sometimes emerging and sometimes not No more trips after the first frost The undressed world How the round of the hills crystalled with frost ruddies watching cheeks…
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Loud Stable
Night’s stable are sable Seventh degree means ass-able Watered Thelemiwadi wallahi my prophet I saw it Sláine’s warping spasm mouth gaped in orgasm A wave of glue tending downwards through the pink rock chasm.
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Pool and Pork
My punches are wit dimmers that make you need wet dinners Head off like a wick trimmer, fist tremors chin split like syndicate winners Piss rank the poor public pool in disrepair, piss sour air, pouring the chloriners In slim slips her sins shine her lips, swims in it up to her tits, shocking other…
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Bedfellows
Postered walls no postered bed, it isn’t Balmoral Goldfish finds Atlantis in a reef of plastic coral Fairy lights blue the tank but the old water is sorrel Sorry to the fish inside I find that immoral But now is not the time for quarrel Cold to the touch a frost giant’s sprog I imagine…
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Alchemisland 