Wolf Tongue Read Online Free Page B

This
    corresponds to something solid
    & Bright. We’ll
    attach our
    selves
    there
    Yet.

Beulah
    She walks up. Stands in the air. It is raining
    gently and we are transported by
    urgency to stay.
    You
    are quiet & I am inside
    breathing slowly.
    ICI herbs
    quiver
    on the lawn. Come
    back. My throat
    is
    heavy with empty
    songs.

Moon Ode
    what would life be without Johann Boetticher
        or!
              C LEFS DE LA P HILOSOPHIE S PAGYRIQUE
    under the pines
    of future death
            & Horbiger, owner
               of the leather circus, shades of Grosz!
    hideous and enchanting Thulean neo-paganism
                              eternal ice of Peenemunde/
                              (Beulah walks
                              up

Chatterton Ode
    sleek beasts
    in your equinoctial dreams.
               the song the song     the song of
               Thule, progenital
               echo of crass teal,    oh peach-
                   tilted animal
                                       in the heart-park
          to whit
       a fried leaf of
         cyanide
                                       oaken saddle
                               of premature breath
                   the Nine will be mine
              Land of the black goose.

Ode Long Kesh
              & tie strings together
                    as the sky falls
     between the knees, fragrant
        lard-mouth. A planet in decision. But
                    falls sunless towards
       the best uncle, Flapless Man. Sheets & Arrows
    on his bracken ankles, terse cloth
                in his worn digital pie. Last week’s
    Luddite, Tolpuddle broth of caps, Flapless
              leaks
                       & the sky (his odd wife)
                  fails to strangle inclinations
                         between those sheeny
                           thighs. Flapless
                never comes.
    Flop goes Flapless & the whole arterial mess
                      back by the gas with an
                              Irish supper. No doubt
                    the last of all marchers
                       & out for the year.
            Nouveau Flapless in the garments of rich
            hunger, living on potatoes & nitro-glycerine.

Flame Ode
                 ‘and the warm weather is holding’
                            far back, whisky
                nailed the plate, he
    kissed an Ace
                        On into
    overmuch, pukey niblets
    in the shadow of the magic mushroom
    children held rooms for grief in the mild autumn
    And why won’t he come, my mother in the pantry
    flames shift
    in the sky
    working late in a crane
                                But, he did not, arrive, he
                                left
           & a crime reporter reviewed my poems, the
            last bud
    with a quote from mike mcclure
                             the lion roared back
                       sleek beast
                flames melt
                factory gates
           the blackmailer treads over the instruments
                                   of the poor shift
    people have to eat

Ode
      Urals postmaster, this is your
    dead child! Ecto-
    lunch on the shore, spherical
    & gorgeous.
                      tattle for
    a leaf, butter in your eyes
    as you fall.
                      a dream
    of deltas in whose sunken shore
               his weightless sister
            drives her car
                 of charity. au bord