I must admit I am an attention whore
and that might be forcing you at the point
but give free rein to this, and the sky, which
is nothing. Growing up in a mad dance—
        Since LOve tackles DEbt, I will follow it to
the marrow, 380° restaurants at that time would
not serve cats or dogs, neither do I have nastiness
pooled, I just want to suspend her now
at this time of my life




JUST HANDCUFF ME


Then paint me the sum of polygamy.
Tender brawny snippets, pear pips
& a drainpipe running down to the
sea. Not you not me.

With night you come stomping,
It’s kristallnacht in my dream—
why did you shave our heads?
When will we reinvent love?

Look at me orbiting the earth:
cool extreme organic oil.
I tower above the Shard wearing my
new raspberry jeans and orange t-shirt.

Some worlds still purr apart
a fly        or fact        or loaf
some people are just called bodies
but I’d like to die clean on the spot!

Some feel a baby kicking.
Asterisk nipples the real September
I began and where I started. With
shining intuition. Esoteric holler.




HEAVEN


When I set off for heaven with two enormous suitcases and deep breaths I was eaten up by the road signs. I took my panties to sleep, I kept stollen for emergencies and I burnt inside, in the way Cassadaga spirituals burnt like forest. Like the thrust and yelp of love. Revolving faithful I was a pendulum I was happy to drift in a heartbeat, a single one, lasting several hours. I woke up in the middle of a dream of dresses.


I woke up
among trees made of atlases.
A melon factory slew
juice to my right; a black
vole ran away to my left.
It was dark in here; heaven was not yet.


*

I’ve touched
a ghost, rhymed my name with an antelope.
Sent my dresses
down the slopes of cotton mountains.
Made you international now
two nations removed.

What’s my big attachment to cash?
What’s battery to cataclysm.
What’s lack?

I’ve swept the planet’s anger
and it scrubbed up well—


had the charm to die indulgently


*

At heaven’s side-door I decided to take a leak; I’d barely pulled up my trousers when someone opened the door. I opened the door. A line of determined tulips emerged and marched past me to the edge of the planet where some leapt and some leant. My memory was pawing at my face, but this is the absolution rhyme.

Heaven isn’t only a passionate accomplice –
he’s a crystal ventilator.

He’s all about the tide of hydrogen,
trying to die cruising,

he’s head over feet over body over brain
he’s muscavado, a white winter.

And it’s a measure of his talent that he wrote artlessly.
It’s a measure of me, his temper lacking grace.

In the cool hue designated to the rich
I bellow in the poor, I think I am poor

I’m going to get some hunger but I’m shocked by tides
I lose a vision of space on the creaky plain

I’m here, buzzing in the static centre
of the heart, in the centre of the heart.


*


To white blonde blood style, to sink for
a while and blaze burn silent style. My style, no.

To sink a tournament in you and continually
be telling you that Time is also sexy now.

To dissolve, shatter, smash into its components
fade out or prove unrecognisable from this angle of vision

to not get in, be wrongly assimilated not loved enough
misinterpreted saved for later skewed or screwed over—

to the ‘I’ and the ‘You’ versus the MOD
and the blink of stupid things like rocks caves thunder-gods

all of which are definitely arbitrary to me
all of which fall away below the ethernet

To the ability to revise what I’m waiting for
little thought-bombs, not on my radar

All around me marriages are breaking down
and let’s protest violently against this, as if

we’re extremists, boom brighter than the moon:
I want to see you live through the robbery.




YOU WIN


If only I could
grow
into a digital flower.
                        If only
                        lurking had a purpose in
                                    the age of the Aegis.
                        Just so Swindon
                        and Wigan
                                    can be there too,
looking back at you clockwise.
In the tale where I counted my teeth
            In the biscuit where I slept sweet
                                    ...rolling over in bed...
                                        coining the term.


Just so folks can buy a house.
Eat shoe polish
            if they want;
            lie face down in the mud
                                    Yes, it is raining
            there’s a dorsal fin at the window
the revolution tastes of earth’s blanket
            Don’t it? heading down to
            the mutts cuts
                        grazing our shoes
                                    setting out on a boat
                                    just so that we will not die.


Just so as not to die,
            to figure out our mandate to the world:
            fat suspender / lonely crystal / happy company / sharks, wolves / ludic data /
                        morality for
                                    beautiful girls, a little
                                                piece of cryless sock
                                                            there where your face shines out.


All newly and newly formed concepts lurking in all forms of floating
All mothers and brothers on a pivotal shipwreck, they don’t they ever listen
All diatribes of loss, and tribes of hope in chloroform meaning to say sorry,
                                                            Getting round to it hunking up to it.
All forms of flossing, gloating, preening lovely publicness
Taller sister soldier sailor, I am moved by you so
broker dealer harlot player, I am moved by this too so
            how long can a heart ate for. Our heart rate, and yours,
            resembling something you know
                        looks like something you don’t
                                    looks like all of you, scored through


What if I was
too tide up in being brilliant.
                        What of parricide in the Eurozone.
                        When Havel went around
                        blessing everyone,
anointing us with his clam juice.
In the catalogue I planned my defeat
            There’s a tag cloud descending over me
                        ... taller sister,
                            rate my heart.
            No biliousness but full of Christmas.
AMY DE’ATH
EPIGRAPH
JUST HANDCUFF ME
HEAVEN
YOU WIN
I
A
A
A
F
S
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