pandemonium



          leeching it had as through a small bruise penetrated
          & loitered fleshy though from a separate place a yard off
          all against it ends enough & parts all filthy below as jets
          huzzaed over each lissom clime easing over the scarp
          me parking my arse examining a groin rash moping
          about or hankering after the farting heaps & chimneys
          pared down from some vague hymen lifting a flap I imagine
          & smatterings of the thing as we'd seen it balking
          & had tuned in on perched upon it as it were from where
          our programme surged in on the false salt marsh so tight
          the cinquefoil of light a millenarian might chase vagrant
          in fulminating as if a little bit lost I guess just stingily
          pondering upon the hasp or cusp of it taking the thing
          under the buckram and noting the cables tapering there
          sagging under a benzene sky cannily asking for the thing
          halving what the thing had caught in its teeth there
          cheapened below each trauma / slurry pit / me pissing
          at an approximation of it with mites of it quite free there
          as though it were perspicacious for that old stepping
          stone some such verdigris & moss all said a plum deal
          but not least noted of in the thing taking great pains
          ravening for significance through the blood sum though
          not in the least disturbed but as such quailing anyhow
          wandering lackadaisical under the torn fringe of ads
          & virtue as I had imagined legs akimbo & channelled
          the words gaping at the limpid nascent slug all bunions
          & turpitude / o god I think quite pure too casting there
          leavened within plastic tumblers & set with tiny stars
          & tartar as such stitched booklets wd have it scratching
          or so it was in the cold quarry they slept in with crab lice
          under stone so pink before those tiny shits edged their gaff
          those tractors rusting & the villagers boxed in in brine
          blunt & lapping in the recoiled flame above a pylon
          a sewer was it / perpetually tainted with music & stains
          heading I would have had it towards fertile sedimentary
          plateaux or the yelling of folk skedaddling at the font
          those discoloured steps as I hollered in love vexed with
          as far as I recollect psoriasis under the tantrum of years
          & that descent in this bald time as I'd heard in the valleys
          someone squatting squinting for the burlap tic-filled
          paraphernalia a holding place below it no need for soft
          fucks to whimper under cantilevered byres & echoes there
          those steps wavering in the stairwell one more dandering
          heap in those places when the thing would collapse
          again as had not happened during the dry spell at all
          a yard bifurcating in the den a faint twinge in my arse
          my fingers footling about an inch as I probed my corpse
          finally for my quim a little extravagance in the yard
          in the selfsame mappa mundi all young & pure there
          among the blistered whelks and fostered pandemonium
          
          



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