P OSI ER I D ER
GAI L
under a blue fog untin me here there's a house stands idling o'er the fields the stacks are going, the wealth is gone, it distills from this frigid hour nettle soup, scent of wisdom, hair bright. Sorts red lentils, buckwheat, quinoa, petit pois, edamame, pearl barley, black rice, oyster pulse, cous cous, poppy seed, butterbean, morning glory, touch-me-not, black and white, bulgar wheat, chick pea, horse chestnut, wild garlic flavoured weeping insolent infantile comtemplation all smears intertwingled and burns washed bloated elbows it is the same the same and all indifferent houses, it is scientific errors of the past or doing the right thing or the inevitably blue mountains i met a man last week who asked me how to sing you don't do it, I say, you just, you know you do it. I don't. I don't even do. it. all the houses of the past from here motion backwards until we pass Birmingham and they return, quicker my modesty is much less in the here and now with no demos to riot with I represent me this fortnight for I have often watched the bird's throat from but a few yards distance swelling canvas through a house's meaty tongue nightmare bureau of kisses filed by fort bliss teets tank clad wives strain out to a stream activate patriots, uncork, oil change an old flute playing in the blood this is a landscape of copses a whole great nation built on fairyring in the glare, beating at the gate, when we have seen the first morning (i mean morning) of the year can we take this somewhere extra-marital? or burn out the pit of this copse, blue plastic is rebirthing from mulch and pestilant roots spiral jetty prick a pin around the hinges of the land melt the anchorites loose untin me here there's something rich beneath
in a piecemeal world they can hit in an instant on an echo a chrous of mummers in containers with bandwidth produced by my fifteenth eye and we are promoted by the ingrate Spectacle Dissidents noted and meaningfully absent where were you when i fell over, when we all fell all OVER how did you miss that: the act? i was up to my knees in lost cause in my morning glories in my marigolds there's nothing violent under my patio i met you on holiday in the islands without introduction i saw you as one who could see an eye flaw who could speak to anyone without embarrassment who was only the last cavity left in the shelving centre, the store box where dreams are sometimes held by accountants, desiring comprehensible and most base toil. in my fantasies i am a production manager for a small mass market publisher. i control who receives the schedules, i determine the schedules, thus it's clear that the seasons update, June changes obviously i don't change it that's madness there's no madness in a mastercopy they pour through and i distil from June nonextant speeches which through my hands are engorged with ALRIGHTNESS. in Autumn we turn to purple covers, russetts and hues and if i were ready to, which i'm not yet i'd say that like the leaves are changing somewhere the you know, in December all is salt damp but from my outlook i catch flags running to red and we need only turn up the pages to see that underneath the rot is purifying the earth the rot is purifying the earth so what the yellow sign says stop now but we are a bandage on the earth all hail the uptilting sun, i think, as it pours across asphalt with my lips closest to the ground and my ear actually pressed against the ground i can both listen and ingest whatever comes easiest comes fastest, i was told, and if it doesn't hey, there's always publishing but really these days we are in the office until nightfall, when even then with my lips forming a perfect crescent and my skin puckered into cracks i can't stem the tide, i can't even try hard and under my desk we form a bunker
despite the presence of flea no one is bit except Gail intercostal banging Gail Gail consanguinate with yourself upstanding there are Gails inside Gails it is winter here, and my Filofax says Gail is the bloated gas ingesting the sun to destroy her we ignite volcanos dust bath glorious bathes thee! almighty gaseous lungs! name one thing that's incapable of destroying and meet me under the streetlamp by the multiplex on Saturday and we will flush up the heat of all the light ever swallowed and mount steadfast yo! Apollo like a twin gondola and blast all the indifferent mulch of this reforming sphere into the vast unrottable corpse oh god Gail this was not what i intended when i asked you to pick up a few things for Ingrid's party, that M&S was literally razed to the ground what, oh what, have you done?