Wolf Tongue Read Online Free

out,
    you bike
    home
    alone.
17
    I will have Fame
    the Nine will be mine
    Walpole slew that fact in
    vented a smart from the enclosure
    Death on a quill
    the Nine will be mine
    in the arms of Moloch
    land of the black goose
18
    Bee-like. The randomness of (his) death
    the particular randomness
    of.       Towards which blood he ran the soft
    floor of his eye        A final showing. Up
    there they strap two rams to
    gether the.
    Walpole slew. No rose. No honey
    suckle on the vine. The rain
    Hurt
    with its own
    soft density
    falls.
    No.
19
    High hearts
    are wrecked.
    They fall on the rocks and the rocks
    fall on them.
    Wrecked.
    What are you doing?
    Telling you lies.
20
    Salt on his lips.
    The moon in his hand which is an idea.
    His heart-arrow snaps (curare
    in soup) because it is a twig.
    A road of bitumen is a road to Hell.
    A solitary tree in his youthfulness
    swelled inside him like the flesh it was
    when his heart broke.
    It is not Abyssinia it is only sand.
    What wet his lips was not salt-water
    but the roar of the sea, breaking.
21
    Dismembering your lips isn’t the same
    as remembering them.
    Dis is hell.         Remembering,
    a reference to it.
    Always the same red road
    (the scarlet boulevard which for Chatterton
    was a northern route to hell).
    It is a leaf which falls in autumn like a poem.
    Chatterton looked at Mole and did not hear it fall.
    For a moment, the poem was touched with gold.
22
    A tincture of infidelity.
    A poisoned spring
    but Styx and stones did not bruise his body.
    Angered at the brown splash on the path,
    Walpole was one of them.
    Nor the cheesey triumvirate of ghosts.
    The stone of the mind was god
    and god
    the Stone.

    The road bends across into & up a fabulous rainbow
    of precious stones but it is only a 12/6 pill.
    The failed Orpheus straps on a sunbeam
    for the Dis-
    -honoured sword but it is a pill
    and seeing the Stone the poet
    Says
23
    ‘The whole of Chatterton’s life presents
    a fund of useful instruction to young per-
    sons of brilliant and lively talents, and
    affords a strong dissuasive against that im-
    petuosity of expectation, and those delu-
    sive hopes of success, founded upon the
    consciousness of genius and merit, which
    lead them to neglect the ordinary means of
    acquiring competence and independence.’
24
    With lips he prevailed.
    Salt on ours
    as if life were grievously wounded.
    Rain
            hurt
    with its own
    density
    dies. The sun
    too.
    Who else    but
    Wolf is beyond
    reach,     the silly
    mole?
25
    With lips I have prevailed
    and a brain of fire
    now there are ashes in my head.
    I haven’t heard from you in months
    because I am afraid of that black sea,
    not needing the bathers in its foam.
    More than a tincture of infidelity
    more than a tight cock gathered in salt-sweat.
    Standing in the rain is like reading
    an inaccurate biography of you.
    An echo of a sea, raging.

26
    A song in endless white night.
    Aguila.     Lobata.     Bucle.
    Taken away,
    whore-shipped like an onion, orange, carp.
    Its wings, teeth and hair displayed
    with a neat carnival touch.
    You have flown from me, gorged with my heart
    You have howled endlessly refusing to leave me
    You have reluctantly shaken gold over my nakednesses.
    What is left is not a fountain of golden purity
    but chains of lead around its flight of fire. –
27
    the exquisite car
    comes holds all
    who go wanting
    to now we may
    not go
    back none now
    wants but
    stay and
    go not
    wanting
28
    A heart-arrow (his random one) snaps. Red
    behind trees is a familiar
    deep mark, so
    turn to love.
    Oh germ-cloud of tomorrow, Walpole
    was one, his

    illustriously fabricated ruby forehead glows
    off a U2 battery for the holy chair.
    Trees shiver with human condition &
    the temple is thick with smoke.
29
    a dream of others.     these aren’t
    warts this is a newspaper. has
    none of
    th’Other death
    in.
    Nothing random or decided in the grey plants
    here.
    Bathing under the moon which