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A lamprey burns in the street
teethform a moonflower to monk poise
under rainchoked doorways
eyes that win against my skin
licking itches by themselves
a sacraments of mood stabilisers
I decline again
& still not die
but eat the thorn
everyday alone, the thorn
on my tongue laying in my throat
sacrum pierced blowflies
heavy body towed & to be made a mouth
gurgling of humiliations stone,
a hate of sucking hates
the spygash, the windows smeared the cracks
with my black sand inside
a Samaritans phone box
what is the passion of the footsoldier?
Your trenches? Colonel, what ends are you seeking
phosphorous from beer piss
to the consistency of Honey that glows in the dark?
leave it in the greyest of clemencies
implored inkhorned copyists
to make the strength from guava, loaded
vanguards on the rocks from cloisters
to Sussex Downs the genial line
crashing out the Odd in Waterstones
today gets buried inside me
a cloud of seditious lines
anemone covered lysol rimes
& what for.
