Clathrate and Flask

Clathrate and Flask

"We whistled the fire up and up it came, like Jacob
wishing the lattice to flame, burning to leave no angel unseen."

A hunchbacked ringng in the ears
salt of earth to sand the gears
that grind the crank of baubled freedom
begging barbless sins.

Sinew stitch the tattered beauty,
our night-bloom flag, all God gone Story
sent swimming in the folds of Word,
bourne mouth to mouth,and then held fast,
these bits of crumpled pages
salvaged from the wreck.

What sings in pestle,
phemes the brain
at the mouth of shelter
we ruin like rain, a river
filling slowly, that will one day
canyon all this plain.

Say gloryhole
when you go down
beneath the dam that stands between,
onward after all around
our ones well dead, all will come clean.

Say nightshade when
you blow the candle black.
Say serpent when you raise love up
and garden east behind your back.
Upon our lips this call for home.

Left hand bubble, right hand breathe
arm by arm we take our leave
shorn and shivering through the channel,
dirtyface into the tunnel
by husk, by rind, by tinker's mind
recast the die, relearn the signs.
as the threadbare wires join
to burn the boundaries thin.

Circling round a splintered stump of mast
some claim they can contain the meristem of God
but halfway across there is no shelter,
worm has turned and we have felt
a pupal purring signaling to kind.

A dusk is wishing down the weirs
we dress to meet it as it nears
with clinking cups beyond the Pale,
the vulgar fuels, re-membered ales
of every thing now coming back untame
by night pressings, vultured vows, 
and thrice-told Name.





Morning, Readers.
May be a couple days before the next post in the series is up so I thought I woud share this piece today. A fair few new subscribers this week and thanks to all for giving this stuff and ear. As always, response is a gift. It is an odd one that I hope has finally come clear…mostly.

The image is swiped from Chagall again. Just can’t leave off with his stuff these days.