It's Now (Last September)

It’s now when the trumpets droop and fall
A hound blown in by the wind teases rips
around a headbanger willow’s apocalypse
From your lips leaks a song of convergent senses
and for six seconds we share a time
a refusenik period, the attitude of a rude rind
unwrapping the moving flesh
with a flash of colour on a parrot’s wing
you stumble changingly to the plumbing
and flow as blue into yellow
flags into ground

Weighed appropriately the erotic lapse
rebounds after a pancake breakfast
served with warm syrup
sloshing over the natural border
Between meathook and mastodon hung
confessions of order doing little
to stop the salt spilling
which the tongue of a bee falsely licks
and is stung in thirsty confusion
like when you did that thing
after singing

In the cavity clearing in the wandering wood
where the jets of late summer deface
the deaf blue with their bravado
I can’t hear you anymore I
feel confused today Saturday
the day when it’s okay to say “So ...”
as the face peels off the militarismus
mustering around the yellow dress in the grass
seven fly in formation
the deep penetration of the sun
scatters miasmas of a pure relation

Mirages pale beneath the pink parasail
as a lily patch flutters of toilet paper
& a thin man drunkenly falls
to the anybed beneath his head
massively efficient at kicking the grass
and sending croquet players scattering
too bad he’s napping
a mister creant faithful and true
leading his classes in provocative weeding
& where were you?
bleats the lamb - is that me

Or this wandering, the dust
concealing the mallet swinging
of your form sweet changeling
some days more awkward
than a heat score
& all that legs prolegomenate
when striding home lately or
crossed in a tee
of these commas stabbing
emotively properly — ten days later
Rain noisily lunging down

The through-shine of the kitchen door
hunger mewling
(you play dead for the world I return from)
but for me
pustule break
fake orange juice on tv
a rind drying in shadows of noontime
that’s all
an initial radiating quick
a beverage of lime
meaning time

Aphids puffball eyes scour the dark
proffer the bone-grown gourd
slander of nonsense
a slight clink
of the bookcase
& zoom off on waves of extramission
head separate from voice
wrapped up for the postman
(cheerful, bearded, clean
& in the union)
willing

To deal you an iron deal, ribs visible
arbor of travail bodying the poke
always feared
fragrant crinkle suckling cut fierce
the day was so in 29 or so languages
research reveals
an end to revelations
as we motor up to the reservoir
and drive in
the waters part
lapse heart

An anguish sumped in a dispassionate pump
soaks up the spoils
dismount contemporary oblivion
riven from a far
away affair with a fair star
november dogwash
from which the hedges shrink
scolded and laughing never the lesser
clodded droppings
salve and swaddle
the scalded skull cold gone now