1.
(crack) half
and half
and half,
and half, on the summit I rest and shoulder
empty rejoinders cack
vomit — you shudder and tilt
just barking to tip
out in phase,
the cone of silence
each September tricked
I see your Jim walk in July with Jill
when the moon is a spherical chemical
scorched back
to reasoned exile across the land
lifelike
in commerce with luck and the
2 straight faces you were born wiv,
yer' lip sniffin up tarpaulin -------
You lived on wax and golden breadcrumbs
round a mask of pyrrhic substitution
a winding sheet as fog turned the last bud
atmospheric as form,
who made this exile, in local macropiety,
to what end perpetuate, named for
control as Musick's kingdom by the sound,
for any stray to scab at matter?
2.
Be quiet now, Now
rise up thou unlicked thing,
what do we want when we can't be utter —
to gulp at air is animal, twice-shy, promise crammed
with the meaning of exactness,
Varied Pawprint, save that once,
straplined in drylight to the park's end
as hollow as the form it took, you asked
in clouds of resin
as beautiful as the clothes you wore
of acetate and muslin
to denigrate so heaven sent a lie
no state of mind
that stone brake free,
of prestige or funeral
too loved on air to say,
that ships rise from the sea,
armed for the pick-up, cone of finite dispersal?
Ah, perfect timing: not the weird clay Arghol
send you towards, but no, two questions own
almighty void — each guarded
sleepsong kennels back of the van,
— too whacked to hang excaudate from the lowest bough,
— bruising the utter spaniel straight from the bottle-bank.
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