Tuesday, 11 April 2017

A Map for Sparty

New port to new port
A train skulks up the water’s edge
Creeping through gardens
Crouched low against the fences
Stealing knickers as it goes

Utterly bastard groovy, indeed.

My mysteron-marked hands
Maybe it’s my age
Moulded in the chicken-headed rock
With the pawprints of large beasts
Repointed with place-names
And fingerprint whorls of red dust

Arsenical mummification
Leaves purple and white thumb smudges
Across the corners of the marshlands
Where a crocodile-back finger swims

Anhingas ready to strike
And the spine cracks into fissures
Traced in river charts of the narrows
Guides for the intrepid and the blind
Through these impassable gulleys

My journey to the west took me left
Until the land ran out

Across country from the mudflats
Wondering where the rock caves are

It was a shoe
And a man with a bandsaw
While all movement stopped
At news of an unexploded badger
On the tracks ahead

Burnt white goods have fallen down cuttings
Casting off their masks of caramelised faces of pain
Into a grey city carved from green rocks
Where the hairy-faced piss against granite boundary stones

My passage grave oesophagus
Trumpets from the slate beds
As you rise from the ground
With a light on your head

Heat strengthened laminated inside
A fractured map in the bowl of a skull
Take the weight of your shoulders
Crackling in the burning black synapses
A spectrograph flickers Raudive voices from the damp

Snow mist over the great laid slabs
A milk scar echogram of Greek song
Smears our eyes to the passing blur

Three screaming long-eared bats
Squat like sheep at the foot of a streetlamp

Two voices separate into plainsong
Where runs and roads and rivers bark

One unheard accent points a map
Finger to finger

Into the gulf
Without a roof

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