ANGLU-LATVIESU VARDNICA

Then Pisses

A dog yawps then pisses
Down the inseam of its leg

Gods’ horrid cur preying on the sleepless
And wrought of mind

Tines


Brown teeth adjudicating
Tines jimmied into place

In gore holes stained
Tea black (so it seems)

Scabbed-over with food-worms
These things, worms

(so I was told)
That cause the horrid spirants

To form like larva, writhing
In the abattoir of his mouth

The Shrike

The shrike hooks frogs
And small birds

On pike and spit
Flesh gritting from bone

A cruel Carpathian custom
Impaling kin

On thistle and thorn

Of My Eye

Feet
And rain
Out of

The corner
Of my
Eye

Rain
Out of
The sky

Beneath
Feet

The Loam of My Ass

The cunning savant that I am
I have managed to rim the crumb of my ass

With wildflowers and cockleshells and fritters
Pocked with corn

And in between supping on the loam of my ass
I have managed a rejoinder to gods and heathens

And a man in a hat
Pocked with flies and dry biscuits

Of Stones

I hear a bird caching air through the coccyx of its throat
Skiffs and worms and burr-edges like razors stropping ribbons
Of fine mucked hair

My cussing falls on deafened ears
As birds know no difference between a warble and a shirk
All birds to a one

Having only a syrinx, a nebbish brain
And a mouthful of stones

Of Tongue

Tongue clacking cheek clacking tongue
Cheek clacking tongue clacking cheek

And tongue cheek and spit and clack of tongue
Against roof clacking spit tongue and cheek

Tongue of bone and of spit and of chalk

Of the Sea

I neither pull up nor gasp for air
As drowning is more forgiving

When pockets are weighed down with stones
Not gods

Or tomfoolery

Plank, Thwart and Rush

Huck beat his dog for scrabbling his nails
‘Cross the plank of his raft

Built from cotton bales
And warps of dead wood

Rigged and jimmied
With box twine and rush

Fucking mangy cur
Says Huck Finn

Claws leaving scuffs on plank
Thwart and rush

Or Nothingness

Jean-Paul had a notion of how sticks and stones
Breach words or nothingness

Simone cracked the kills from the murder of his feet
Telling Martin in advance

That jackboots and kilns are for the murderous
And ill-kempt of mind