Recipe for a DJ | Jim Bellamy
In-betweens
To hear a dripping tap in a house
that has no tap, in the dead of night
to hear wombs bounce between thunder and tundra
and to kill time forever: these are the flights
That still the gaze of a murmur till
dreaming slices bread from the mill
and balances praise on a bed. To hear the dead
glancing over the saw-tops while Eden is breathed.
These are astronauts of a weed
and serve all laws till the purpose is filmed.
to hear a tap running while the thrill is killed
this is how the tortoise turns into the hills
For each to dilate as the sugar fills
forward through Andromeda, still as the wind,
the blinding tinker does in the skin
and tells that the hill is a house on speed
Till the tiger’s surf finds tears in the reeds
and draws the surface through a dagger of pins
fashioned by the end, the porpoise spins
and drags the lake to find a rose
And drips off the burden of the far-off hose.
this is the envy of the starring loin
whatever the tolling of a rubbished groin,
still is the point of the turning world
Till rapiers paint the eye and dress the curled
and stage lemonades in a dust of dreams-
to hear a tap dripping in a house of screams.
this is the inevitable stable of the wretch
That dies for sweet love as the gibbets deck
each seal in groped cigars?
Be around
To speak about the soul,
Wake early and never suffer summer.
In the morning be as dead-eyed as the cold
Rebuke of nightingales. Be unfound
As whatever the soul suffers and
Whatever suffers thereafter. Roll
In early suppuration made.
In the early morning
Be alive as women walking
To the sanctuaries; alight
As a recorded touch of oil.
But tell the children nothing.
Write about the desert
And all that it extols. Coil
In the island; the
Island enchanted and unenchanted, the
Island inhabited and uninhabited, the
Island in the apple sun.
Say what is like the sea, like a river, like
A fountain in earphones, like
Taped cloud over the sun. by
Memory and mammary, transpose a gallery,
Overshadow the soul immediate and calm.
Your soul is no more than human.
The rising sky must be as a desert, be
So easily played on.
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