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| untitled 3 electric frost like thrush your breath mine nailed to the air underlining our separateness 200 yards away a street lamp looking 200 years old sucks 200 year old light from the pavement small ufos darting and hovering grey trees conspiring on the hill appearing as though once they'd seen enough they'd shuffle off elsewhere recording revealing nothing growing rings and you squatting in the gateway of that chapel peeing thinly at first then more generously and the fundamentalist houses inside: harsh soap and words framed pictures ignored carpets a radio bony feet uncut nails a deliberate suppression of everything and a bed sheet corner trailing in a dreadlock of dust so you pee a tepid stream on frozen asphalt and absorbed appear not to notice as i feel the momentary warmth on my fingers shaking your ass to remove drops you release a gasp of laughter (faint hint of teeth in the dark) a thin wool covered woman evaporates inversely from the gate behind you and fixes you with eyes that have always expressed nothing but feigned disbelief (when she goes we feel warmer and the trees breathe again) as she walks away we are raped by a kind of divine joy (no longer separate) and you tell the stars to fuck off and shine in africa next day in sunlight sheep cry their way past the chapel we deflect knowing looks and feel that primitive joy again |
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