The Messenger

The atoms of the sun and the water

And my body move in light’s intercourse

A bird lands on the water’s edge, in reach

Throws his head back, opens his flashing wings

The sun has sewn gems of light through his skin

He dips his beak into the water—drinks

Turns to me with eyes black as history

And the juice makes his throat beat, and it throbs

And the juice runs down the definition

Of his chest, and it runs between his legs

And down one pigeon thigh, and I wonder

What he has—I think about catching him

And spreading open his little wet legs

Touch, even suckle, until I too flash

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Very Very Sleepy

The summer land swells with fertility 

I take off my dress, I lay on the grass 

I show them my body, I summon it 

The cattle stir, lift their heads, then drop them

Again—sleepy, very very sleepy...

The bull lumbers over and it prods hard

I drop deeper, the wide tongue in my mouth

It mounts in urgency, I am in heat 

So big it hits my heart, pains in my chest 

We rouse the others, their bloodshot eyes fixed

The wet chins drip and the hairy legs shake  

White light breaks through the trees and down the trunks

And white light slowly runs all over me 

Newly jewelled in sunbeams and white seeds   

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Sticky Night

Pale moth suspended in lucidity

The whole night exhales at me and I suck 

At the part-dream, the part-cellular trace 

The night flowers are murmuring, deep-voiced

A bulging throat in every stamen

The night flowers have a feminine name

But they are not feminine to me, not

To my body response, the branching blue

Veined driving vine, hung with sparkling glands

The sugar heads, yes, the night-scented drops

Balls, bursting balls, hot sweaty bursting balls 

White night cocks, a million hard of them

Unbutton, strong and sticky, bursting yes

Out of your jeans, a million of you

 

Night-long, parted mouths saintly and aloft

Breathing cocks circulating secreta

Surrounded by sensitivity—this

This—I never asked you for commitment

Just the act, the running vines round my limbs

And my waist in twine, I am a flower

Now too, suspended in subconscious acts

This is the lightest tie of the body

Replaces the malignant binds of years 

Nothing exists beyond suspension—this

A million cocks tenderly shooting

Arrows of chemicals, my airways full

Tonguing your name, so sticky in my mouth

Now numberless, clear and eucharistic

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The Ecstasies of a Flower

I stand in the bowels of the woodland 

My hysterical roots fill my body 

Females pining for the deep of a male 

The mysteries locked in the opposite 

Changing voice to his, wetting my insides 

Crying nipples, jewel orbs continuous

My vibrations float on air with the pine

Faint and infected with sores of desire

And there are no walls, there is no city

We could be many-petalled birds—ascend  

Come with your stamen, come here and unfold 

The mathematical euphoria 

The splitting golden climax frequencies 

The wordless replications of summer 

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The Milky Flowerboy

I suck him to me up through a pink straw

He picks the white flowers, his hands are full

Squeezes the milk, leaves a trail behind him

The twisting mass of the Sun’s Christ-less sky 

Horned plaything, the Sun on his burning back 

His lovesickness and his downcast lulled head 

He is damp with the lower emotions

His stricken echoes come from the valley 

It is dismal shit I already know 

How his back hurts and so does his conscience 

Like he is some kind of upstanding thing 

How the white flowers represent his love 

And he cries that it's hard to cheat his wife

And he offends me with his monkey guilt 

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Time to Nest

Legs weak, dehydrated and still spewing

Murmurs from the neglected arteries

At the mouth of our nest, ulcerated 

Mouth bitch takes him in her hold, maternal 

Ease, our nest of tongues, our duplicitous 

Licking nest, where we crawl to for reward 

Covered thick in lies and with swollen tongues 

Brother and sister—our fuck will deform 

The nest breathes and feasts and we are vultures 

Careless and sharing disease and carcass  

Gorging vultures emerging from winter   

Synapses in the spit and lies alight  

At it, gorging on the temporary 

Liquid release from all our suffering 

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Our Reflection in the Pool

The Sun is high, hot and pornographic 

Our bodies reflect, slim and eternal 

A breeze hits the pool and the light dances

And we foam like sweating horses at play 

The Sun disappears behind a cloud's veil 

And we disappear like we were nothing 

Two dead flies float by in the grey, followed

By a petal, a procession, a cry 

And the Sun emerges and the birds call  

We are back again, statuesque lovers 

Switch of breeze makes babes of vegetation 

Reaching and drooping, as flowers and weeds 

And the Sun falls and our shadows open  

Impotent hunchback and necrotic hag 

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The Penalty for Guilt

The shipwreck has come to me for comfort

He drinks my spit and he is defenceless 

I bathe him like a baby while he cries

Compensating for his missing power 

I bathe his arrow gently, the blue-veined

Aching driving vine, growing tall, taller

To reach the Sun, life's aim, and it is time 

To give him the moment of his relief 

I take it in my mouth, I feel his pulse 

On the roof of my mouth and on my tongue

Our nerve endings are all in erection

And it is time and I bite off his guilt 

Set it on the grass amidst the daisies 

In State—the flowers represent my love 

 

His cries change—baby, sad pissy baby 

I fondle his wound tender like Mother  

I have no guilt—the Sun has no guilt when 

She explodes and she blinds her worshippers 

The two ends of the wound seep blood and milk

And guilt, the pollutant, and the ants crawl

Over to his guilt, carry some away 

With perfectly-formed backs, obedience 

I had wanted to watch him carry things

Back and forth, back and forth, but not baggage

His groan, core-born, recognition of fault 

And how he ruined our love and reward 

Quiet!—I put it in my living grave

Wrap it in my pink satin and fuchsia