And so the light falls
Like a cracker cracked in half. Even
Beneath the pen, the breathing hogs
Each moon of madness made. I
Have broken down the walls; acquiesced
Into the lottery of shambled figures.
Even I can’t taste the night.
Leaves rustle in my head.
Across my bed, nudity glitters.
Upon my shoulder, I say my thoughts
Uncensored by any dream and
Cross into oblivion. Why
Should emptiness ache like this?!
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rhyme’s word is sirius, dogtooth in a samba.
rhyme fleeces its flesh and bone and
spires in a pyramidic valley.
rhyme rears, through hearse and arctic spume,
the straining ebbs of the rainbow’s gyre,
the cry of helm and envoi, sired and volleyed.
rhyme’s lave is daughtered by a jordanous fire.
the sermon in a scut, the glory that abides,
strips on the summits of verbotem.
rhyme that seeks Life, sparkling in the mouth,
as the shores of Israel, shall be found
and furnished with the yores of death verbatim.
who makes a rhythm? which rhyme is colour?
rhyme blows the starving angel in the vein.
rhyme is board and sovereign as time’s scheme-
the world is fusion made inside its searing peril-
a secret-in-a-vial, conserving with the seas,
sound knells the supine bell with runeous hammer.
behind a rock of rumour a lackadazing whistle
tells me of the hour, its harpstrung scream
flairing where the word expires, consumed and gleaming,
where harpischord and trumpet wind against a dream.
come of blood and mortar and the meadow’s signals,
cum of spark and ash, the rhymer grinds,
breaks and constrains then parries like a widow.
born of clang and crash, the whistler splits the choir.
especially when the rhymer reads-
(born of spring and summer and the autumn’s sister,
the angelus of winter and the dilly in the veins)
with linguid liquids, famishes and cleaves?-
come of an augur whose auguries are daughter
to the hearted heel of music, spiring come the showers
of the tocsins in the blood, warring and conspiring,
where, by bolt and oboe, the vowels of music flood.
glad in a shower of words, i listened?
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the chill came suddenly,
down the chimney,
like a bolt of lightning,
it began in the kitchen,
following the crash,
it moved fast,
twisting up our lives,
the central heating
emitted no heat,
the gas fire
no longer warmed our feet.
the fridge became far too cold,
how many times defrosted,
i do not know
the oven failed to cook a thing,
the steak was always rare
it spread so far, it reached the stair,
sheets of ice for us to tread
it reached the bedroom floor,
the carpet became cold to touch,
a sheet of frost spread over our lives.
there’s no way out,
the chill will follow,
facing the trial
with no defence
the ice will spread,
reach us all
it’s midsummer’s day,
the fire is on
we are imprisoned
in a block of ice,
becoming less informal
every-day…
we will no longer face the chill,
we will no longer radiate ice
it’s over, the chill defrosts
we can return to the warmth.
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