BASTARD

​When I rehearse your death, 
I am a bee amongst the swarm,
 
Bastard like the best of love,
An accident of passion like 

A vial of ache yoking the aeons,
As real as toenails preserved in resin,

Amberpickled, the thumb of my killer
With its whorls intact. 

I want to be identified by your primeval imprint
Even if I am your mistake –

I do not want to be your's by name…
Too mortal, too finite, too body – you see!

I want to be exalted in the flush 
Of your havoc, ennobled in the organ 

You cannot excise,
Irreparable –

An exquisite blunder, Heir Apparent
To a mouthful of tusk-like flames.

​​KILLING THE TURTLE

A salutary gloaming pricks a bold foray into my 
cheat of hedges,

Rends the turtle's hump of cartilage until its skull of leather
Is slung under, 

Sombre bulk, scutes like wilting slivers of almonds melting
In a sick of amber-ants.

Slant sunlight on the blade of my cleavers, I wield two at my flanks
Like rudders - 

Above us, the noviciate tenders storm the elder's church
Paint the pinnacle

Miracle red, an endometrial pigment as lush as slush
From the pig pen

'Who gives a shit if there is nothing viable in it'
Might as well

Swell a celebration, oil your stick in oink fat and 
Scarp the vicissitudes 

Of polite inequity with the steep of fortuitous tragedy -
Anointing

That something that should never have been but
Almost was.

​
OPIATE (THE WEIRD)

You drop a lax vowel into the tight swell to opiate my sound,
The smell of gash-smoked peat on your fingers

Is the scent of all the whores you've had
And all the fingers you have could never fill me –

Node-like nicks on my glottis strain the whiskey whey and flex,
I drink until my shoes fall off, I drink until I no longer matter,

You say 'stay' but there is too much gypsy in me.
Ash to the quick, back on the black of the dim ride upholstery,

I watch you give me head in the mirror of the moonroof,
An echo of God on the sky's share of waters.

The world would steam us clean of kinks
And kinks leave welts like stones pillaged from a crown –

But you and me, we bang the weird,
You say 'stay' but there is too much gypsy in me.

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POEMS RECORDED AT THE MOTHLIGHT RESIDENCY IN DETROIT (USA), SUMMER 2016 & MASTERED BY ALICE GUERLOT-KOUROUKLIS IN PARIS (FRANCE)

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