_______________
DANTE & THE BIG PIG
wireless, touch a shore
in the negativity of iron ore
write, write as if the future exists
the waxfruit wax fruit
but a microscopic stain
& a frost of trees for the
fishnet fish net at night
wires touch the earth
yes wires touch the earth
the pejorative rainbow
or the bag of rainbow
the armamentarium
or the sinologue
Hmmmmmmmmmm, yes, but
the onrushing mass of verbiage
is proving to be too much
the fear of fur & fin spume
on cambered wings of cathedral
or the indelicate reference
to me as a sea creature
what a predicament
on a rainless plateau
the euphoric stonecut letters
& the cheap cheap paper
every window will be smashed
by bits & pieces of purple chalk
once again the pattern is one
of a movement from seeming
organization to disintegration
beat me, beat me
to a frazzle the long
worm that has no turning
feel your own pulse as the
rice growing off the stalks or
the corn falling off the stalks
i eat the asparagus as a
bulldog revolves beyond
the destroying of dogs
i am beyond soap & water
a football in the ruins of my hands
a fictional echo chamber with
no overtly logical transitions
between the silvery voices
the bulldog revolves in tweed
as a knock comes to my door
i touch my slightly reddish nose
for the better part of an hour, as
sure as eggs are what they are
i move in a sea of thought the dim
impersonal narrative of an explorer
i had drunk something out of a bottle
to save myself anxiety, in lyrical earnest
the question & answer format, as convoluted
& seemingly distanced as it can be at times
never give a book to a Frenchman
for it will be pouring with rain
yes it will be pouring with pain
a pig has experienced pain
the pig comes in at 10 keel
the pig is a keen dancer but there
is an indelicacy to the situation
it's a strange world, of rash rash acts
a brick moves through plateglass
on the fish isle fish isle fish isle
the fucking sea stallion
for the black black ochre
of the cannibals of London
the slaughter of wrinkle
not what you would expect Dante to write
what an ugly grin
larking with a boy
& his theft of a leg of pork
i am sipping some stout
my face reduced to a pulp
i am sipping the pig in bed with my cud
i drink some milk from a bottle
as people find me chewing an apple
it should be stated that these
words demonstrate a sundering,
rather than a coming together
if nothing else, there is no fusion and form
there has always been a whatness
in the work of a pig or a poet
_______________
Séamas Cain
http://seamascain.writernetwork.com
_______________
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