Poem

Slag, slag.
Leave me my slag.
I am the unslaggiest
of slaggy men. My
leavings all slag.

Poem

Lorca! Lorca! Lorca!

O Lorca!

TWO POEMS

AN AGE AND AN EAR AGO


Are you saying my poetry is dark?
because it feels light to me in its shedding
there a goodness in the ear and slackness in the jaw
with 7 miles to go before we lay our bodies down
worked up into a stupid, I meant stupor



A LITTLE SONG TO COOL THE SPIRITS

Mine delight.
Sing this night.
Carry, carry low
The torches from below.

Mine delight.
Ignore the slight
Dampness of the fist.
You're pissed.

BEGAN IN A COLD PROVINCE

I am one boot:
laceless, arithmetical.
One in a hive of running smoke
come home.