Joke Book (Extract)

Let’s probe themes, demands tradition. Doesn’t poetry pass its imports

into less languid commentaries? They stiffen on vision:

Delia’s mum’s long parlour (bra is ample);

dad classifies home as sick hell, all weekend

in anger swears that ‘even if I frig her wet, flex her, say “my dear”,

carelessly comb my hair, she remarks that “he sends all men

the summer dance, he never wants to stay home for sex. Usually

he feels coarse boys back on the station. He calls to them, ‘get your kit off, fall on

it!’ Knobs on show, and such positions way past just a sigh!

Pa’s a column in some sexy page.”’ Get a car. I’m going to show

just whose son regrets the day these walls caused us to

stray far from home. Yes, you all hiss and yell at tit all your

gay rhetoric and you hope the next day she will get all the blame.

A kid comes in to hear (‘move over my dear’) rumours abound.

‘Who’s carrying on?’ ‘But I swear..!’ ‘Consider killing your one connection:

enter, lead her to a settee, offer smiles (“after you”);

be a disease, lay fate so soon upon the bastard. Erase her, mask the

pencil. Solace to you, day’s sin satisfied.

An éclair? After decent kill, men stay hopelessly sexual

danger prowling there. A cheque will donate income – see the amount?

Do your best and watch for the money. 1890

begins it, alright? I become impatient and see hell’s empire proffer demons

a symbol, it’s clear, to endless space with your corpse.

Just be sure she fell. Bullets kill – start increasing harm.’

The cock is large: he knows it. He pastiches you others pouring tears

and pours tea. The men may have passion but later they waste –

see Melnick on top, defiant of male violence. See the key appraise the place, her

skirt so near to her anus. Too hard. Dance the salsa

and I tell you don’t stop at all, and on him sew the cigar’s song. Don’t laugh about

a marvellous tableau of being done. Fast feet upon carpet meant only

he murmured ‘key’, a house leading you

teasing slaughter. Pterodactyl knee compound as gas

set an outer force: tradition. Come sell one. He bit her

lemon (big). If I can rig a wet dance… A long novel set on a supper table.

Mathematizing the Relationship

apple on the table

varnished flat plane

grain visible

- no acryllic covering

the centre of the table

was where I placed that apple

bringing together

the straight-line and the curve

(with one eye shut)

intercourse of angles

where legs meet table-top

is why he’s arrive drunk at her house

(too drunk to do anything but

listen to music or

watch t.v. -

he’d sleep on the couch)

entirely predictable marriage

at ninety degrees

yet a still more interesting

conjoining

so I put my

on the

after she’d left (for Cambridge)

and thought

about

taking

a

bite

Pilgrim

I. Street

Let us —- neurotic cages rattling down the street —- viva la blah blah blah, that virtuous blues —- take in some virulent nonage —- and the glutted club of stammerers —- we muster for a saga of bleary steppes —- we huddle in the brass drained from cages.

II. Prison

This obese joinery scared a man —- was killed by a falling scrim —- black jacket bolted shut —- over the hem of sky you come white —- white sheet knotted to white sheet and so on —- the prisoners climb out from their windows —- called back to —- there the beach under the street we rattle down —- raise glasses, goblets, cups of fire higher.

III. Beach

Roiling provenance of agitated lime —- out of what was built —- backs of legs tighten into walls around water —- my eyes are leached —- the beach is lit.

IV. Postscript

As only will would contort and caress —- this redemption slow moving —- a saffron cylinder of clean water to drown mice in —- to slobber over the torso of anima —- adore it, breaking.