Thursday 22 July 2021

Sarg Yob IV (DRAFT)


O wall a looping hairpin itch reaping

me now dog-legged to an (e.g. human) warmth 

&hole stricken as I sing aloud 

from this edge& in your light 

Dear Sergeant Yobbo,

your brightest human warmth 

assuming like other members 

the identity of a body who had died young 

&be made into braids of armaments 

&worships invisible now through the spy gash 

a human light made human warmth 

to you unmoved clinking ha'porth 

made your mouth to not smiling 

I speak through the Special Demonstration Squad 

using an alias of a stolen life, 

an invisible toll clamped tight 

an exit strategy of said name of deceased child 

Sergeant Yobbo, O hole-strickened hook reaped

my own itch as it haft reaps 

slowly deadening attrition 

a wreathe spiral flickers up my face

the wind over broken stars 

cover the hole of this wall!

I speak your mouths exit a bewitched helve 

to eat custard cream biscuits sunk a knuckle 

to sunder of thorn by name 

by night you have taken 

tacked on to a letter

abandon mother & child 

in the make-believe activist play 

a warmth comes over me 

for the most dedicated fathom imagine 

broken stars broken 

a hole to sunder alone 

of thorn by name & night 

I can speak through every word unsucked of life 

to be a frightening vein 

Dear Sergeant Yobbo, 

O you have put in the cub 

got up the spout, the stick knocked thricely 

in the wind this here is a policeman's child 

to wash this blood off from my guilty hand 

the identity of a boy who had died young

under evensong 

of a life misspelt a life mislaid 

& love of you 

Sarg Yobbo, 

twitched life entwined 

spy infiltrated my code weaved 

of each wastlings 

now foresworn to be a forged life 

re-emerged of sequences of mine 

for me this broken lamp the emails have expired 

since you ruined my life 

in this here cold black pond

a shaft of light stricken white 

watching in cleaning them of tears blight 

of a hireling this I protest a soul full

for a hardcore militant sowed as a lover 

avail oneself of sexual relations for the purposes of 

policing this living fear?

with my hand set down on penitence evermore 

O woe the unconventional nature of accomodation 

in the right age-category or of each others homes 

on this sunken heel of mine 

Sarg Yob, 

of how many are in your creation & unreceived 

unforgiven am I the first spawn 

competing with a dead child 

or I born in reverse of you

Sarg Yobbo, 

closed to skin of mine swathed in vela 

to be held in covers & sheets

be made into blackjack or baton 

upon this cosh a traitor's hand 

did set it down with my name 

there a promise pass'd speak 

I will break it open 

within my mouth of rolled & folded papers

an improvised weapon of beermats, 

horse brasses, polo mints, shoelaces 

& boots squashed together to form a cosh 

under your arm unwanted 

I am here, remaining as a stealth weapon 

Sargin half to create a handle (a haft)

& a rounded head at the fold 

it is me your child 

your long-lost child 

& I have unreservedly emailed    

since the dawn of time 

& received no response 

blot shilled to memory raked with holes 

invisible in your mouth sickled 

your brightest stifled light 

a secret unit nail clawed to grapnel 

of a boy who died 

of this falsest of lights 

in the blood heart defect, 

let sorrow sway under the whole data, 

personal irrational pellet 

on my hanging mouth 

I have written with a groan 

where did I leave?

& to be returned from your heart-blood name 

impeach'd, baffled upon my grave 

my given fair name, but not shame at my own foot 

of boots squashed together to form a cosh 

I do not bid again,

with this hanging mouth 

or spotless head 

an antithesis of what a good boy should be 

spelt backwards of a wrecked request

that malice makes too deep a paw 

fanged this crook died in your mouth 

when you utterd me'

unsheathed my unlived life 

there is no boot with this hanging mouth

or this life be spent betwixt us twain 

blood's royalty at spat aim 

at I in this foisted bloodrot 

this undid my name 

& made me Sarg Yob 

is boy spelt backwards 

curbs me my right drawn to name 

a sundered blot in the blood of the MET 

a foul for what I speak my body shall make good 

upon this earth as a good subject should 

spur reprisal & make blood hot

O prodding strange evening 

do you remember when you fingerholed my life!

you made of me strange & want nothing 

of what you want 

a needle sick on this bad life 

to make all good, 

like a traitor coward stuffed & pricked scapula tight 

this injurious mirror-image 

formless of touch and further will maintain 

these arms of due furbish of home stead 

so sighs & tears cover my eyes & ears