Wolf Tongue (5 page)

Cry and she wanders, through

ladders of fern.

Glandular prussic,

fast mouth, turned

on flesh that

knows no bite

though thousands feasted

on her moons

of fat.

Flame lips.

Suck thighs.

Exit.

Fight your hunger,

eat!

Let her come

in leather,

sheer black.

Sample the hardness, trite mania.

Finger all that’s there,

pus.

The billows are mighty

in a thrush of spots.

Venery

tart lickings.

You want

you say, mindless.

Locked.

Fall on her.

Delight the crew.

Flushing.

Drambuie.

Steps.

Spangled balconies abound

with webs of murder in

the vine.

Try the madness, drink

rain

& wine.

This is she.

Untouchable.

Moths flame inside her

crimson yoni,

as if she were a Zodiac

in pink July.

Blaeberries

torn from their

skin.

Her horny towers

stand on steel

& shine.

Menstrual poke

of blood.

Furred fuck.

Vixen.

I put my walking stick

inside.

Its steel tip runs, towards

her cashmere

breast.

Wax her.

Shame the day.

Blame lizards

for the iguana rain.

Leverets.

Fences

& phones.

Apples ground

in mills

are red

and green.

How much you mean

to others,

more to me. Pods

that glaze

snap open tiny

bulbs who eat

my stem

towards the sky.

Cirrus.

This is the dirt, far

 language. You

turn the consequence,

nowhere.

Fret love.

Back home to

solitary murder

in the vine.

No hair

on you is always

red

upstairs.

Timber trapped

in trees.

Dance without

moving

an inch.

Kiss me.

Cut grass

& urine.

You are awake.

I love you.

What a mouth.

Open your black-backed gull.

See her, inside.

Fine bird,

hen.

Pearl

orange barley.

Shrink, wear partial vests

of stitchwort

campion

& lace.

(Filters red

&

blue.)

Cave

rime.

Mottled death,

&

Pan.

Pass the aconite.

Wear monk’s hood

    ringed with

      wolf bane.

          French words dominated

          Chaucer’s day.

                       They ate away

          the oak & rose.

       Strangeling

        Changeling

            Chatterton knew

               his way to a

                  northern

                     Cup. That kind

      of final act

           is difficult

      to follow. He lay down

              & was Recognised

      in romantic oils.

             Watch yr breath.

                   It will lie

         to you then lie

              down and stop. Blank

          is the colour

                of his separation

            from language & life.

                     Asbestos.

                     Cadmium.

Make your naked phone call moan, listen

to a police radio.

Victorian landscaped gardens

mend his

horny mind.

Quit

now.

Cascade your promises

like unfulfilled

stars.

Tawny planets.

Fiery rings.

Eric Burdon

and Johnny Cash

say so.

Pauline

axe.

Fill what’s there

with gelded

heifer-blood.

Tups.

Distinct reflection

mirrored

green

& Mighty.

Walled gravy

is a

marriage mess.

Fantastic stick.

Divorce horizon.

Fuck off

get.

Make your naked pencil mine. Play

gradient hands

across this sexy northern

cattle grid.

Rattle

your hooves

on it.

Alarm bells

drink

the seed.

Lavender torpedo.

Grayling can’t

match

yr movement.

Eat

hooks

&

wormy barbs.

To win,

suck

seed.

Show me the door

I can’t ask for more.

Sailors docked

here.

Ropes line the house.

Oak-pin

skulls

survive the

China Sea. 

Albion, your

waters fringed

with foam.

Everett picks

cardboard from

his master’s

trunk.

He paints directly onto square

scraps of sail.

Nazi

Stukas blow

his aquatints

sky-high.

Stolen masterpiece.

Decks recede.

Sombreros tilt

in horse latitudes,

hands sew

thick thread.

Rum.

Tough biscuits.

Brine.

Spurs of neonised leather

smoke the night,

inside a Mondrian

shirt.

Locust purity.

Claire Bloom’s

face

has obviously been

steam ironed

into that melancholy

regard.

(Actresses

are magnets to

the common man –

Silk torpedoes

in a dressing-room)

Vixenated threats

of pus

&

horny graphite marginalia

are the

bangles

she

wears tight.

Char bread.

Trout loaf.

Purple feathers

flex against

the sky of my

side.

Tender grebes

delatinise

the moon.

We

suck imaginary

tides.

Her wild oregano

delights

my empty room.

Buy

scarab wings,

phallus opium.

Cropped hair.

Pool eyes.

Bud mouth.

Remembered

bevelled cheeks

of

Iroquois.

Beware of young girls.

After copulation

Tyger

turns upon her

sexy mate

claws unsheathed.

Fuck snot

gleams her open

jaw.

Mate lies

down.

You cannot petition

the Lord

with prayer.

That’s right

Jim.

But

you

took an early

Bath

when a Shower

wd

have Done.

1                                                                  

Wedding rings & tears. You are on

the edge of nowhere, next

to a moat.

(We

met for lunch

in secret

Soho

squares.)

We cheated

but not with ourselves.

Tangerine

frock

hugs pleated

folds

to

restless

body

Rim.

Happy then.

Smiled.

‘I can’t see

to finish this’

Right.

Conifer

&

Carp.

Swan.

Ghastly

sight.

2                                                                      

Quote what’s left of loveliness, bend

separation & divorce

into your struggling moat hair.

Orange

fight.

Lips

bowed skyward

in a

smile.

Not now.

Two

of us

in segments.

Pips

Bite acidly those secret

garden

figs

&

change that stranger’s

glare.

Moat bank saplings

tilt

for the sun

Their roots

push down.

Drought

&

Flood.

It’s in the

human blood

Now cry.

3                                                    

The struggle

is love.

Parboiled,

we sink in the dread

ful

moat.

It is a mote

in our

Eyes

no surprise.

Skull-

crushing crystals.

Bone-

bending words

promise zero.

You walked

up, good

bye.

       Wear your

seatbelt and

fix

that rearlight

soon.