The Human Moon


New hounds in the face, old strangers in the eyes.
with an itch we damn the universe
some tequila, some silence
some mesmerising open wire taught–
a perfect union that,
drank fear
drank fear
drank fear


Old and new neo-gals and men, singing to zero hymns in bent digitalum gas,
hands of rain kneading time;
into the bile of silhouettes made to open and heal
spraying black june and may screams, through a gate
by vehicles in mortar sighs forgetting, lighting
a guitar strokes the cosmos
a cornea made for summoning
a smile, cathedrals fall inwards by your feet
departing in loops
machine free
mechanis milked
into lava blue, blue
soft, night-flock;
the spines that words alter
ravaging in pools,
no shape;
now that I can go slower than my body made from mercury
and paint, now that the silvery edge of life’s stones cannot slice
its own
peach and throat,
hail gives birth to leviathans
in silk-beds of vermillion war, wording to the jack-rabbits that have made it
through the snare, the moors that borrowed the evenings face,
borrow that same day again, the catchers are annoyed with the moon and the ticks burning in the sockets of grey hate and joy
by the lungs of all geese that chase the air like black arrows
beyond the white clay kiln.


Below the deserted sun
vesti la giubba is what the planet sings when it can no longer
and pulls its body into a long hanging bow.

East london sells me its music at seven ay em
selling less lie
than the singing junk-yard
that welcomes an arrow
as the fingers on my right hand
pull back
and my left hand aims
past steady canary wharf, near the cells in the tower of london when torture
was hum-drum
even, for the limbs in the clasps
waiting, for someone else
to howl, but the orphans have run out of storm line and tempest line, their steps run into snow or trains of frying summer
with a beer and a smoke to gather the years and call out to madness
like a cat watches, and the imagineless speaks, symbols &&
all of the ghosts want to be human
all innumerable styles, of drunk
light on a carcass
where we have drank all night, and I know
that, I disappear
dwarf stars consummate
in gatherings of knifeless judges, burnt
down to red metal, the ocean
meditates like all man knelt inside, the homeostatic scream;
from the waves that are the dreams of giants
turned into the waterfalls of patients,
rolling death with the bones of tears
mercy in the snakes twitching their antlers ahead
like stars born into flux
that lose memory in the swarm, and teach flesh anew:
its old onyx song


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