Saturday, August 29, 2015

Born Eighty-Six Years Ago Today


Thom Gunn

Nightmare of beasthood, snorting, how to wake.
I woke. What beasthood skin she made me take?

Leathery toad that ruts for days on end,
Or cringing dribbling dog, man’s servile friend,

Or cat that prettily pounces on its meat,
Tortures it hours, then does not care to eat:

Parrot, moth, shark, wolf, crocodile, ass, flea.
What germs, what jostling mobs there were in me.

    These seem like bristles, and the hide is tough.
No claw or web here: each foot ends in hoof.

Into what bulk has method disappeared?
Like ham, streaked. I am gross—grey, gross, flap-eared.

The pale-lashed eyes my only human feature.
My teeth tear, tear. I am the snouted creature

That bites through anything, root, wire, or can.
If I was not afraid I’d eat a man.

Oh a man’s flesh already is in mine.
Hand and foot poised for risk. Buried in swine.

    I root and root, you think that it is greed,
It is, but I seek out a plant I need.

Direct me gods, whose changes are all holy,
To where it flickers deep in grass, the moly:

Cool flesh of magic in each leaf and shoot,
From milky flower to the black forked root.

From this fat dungeon I could rise to skin
And human title, putting pig within.

I push my big grey wet snout through the green,
Dreaming the flower I have never seen.

Seven more below fold.

Friday, August 28, 2015

Theme Songs August 28, 2015

Wasn't going to say anything, but holyfuck, Beloved Landru gave me 56 songs for my birthday!

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

[Concision is hard...]

Concision is hard.
Fruit and refrigerators
taken, pink blossoms
on Metro station
platforms already painted,
the orange shadow
my hand and pen cast
over tablet disappears
when I stop writing.

Concision is hard. I used
a Williams and Pound allusion
to prove I'm not an imagist.
I know you don't want me to explain.
Let me explain: if I thought
my not explaining my
unexplained was crystalline
I wouldn't explain what
I'm not explaining.