Now naked upon the grid
like some hairy cupid:
are you able to assist ?
To assist The Magnificent,
who is invincible ?
After,
he sits in his cups
on ground unlimited
having finished his push ups.
He takes everything by mouth:
liquid.
trying to clear my head
by way of lords
on a bus to beachy head
at the precise second the ball was bowled
over wenlock edge.
either a boundary or something –
in the bowler’s hand a difference seemingly,
a dance: suddenly a grenade, a warmth replaced by panic
in my head the word titanic.
brain on deck. to pass to faraway places such as france.
his loop made me think of adlestrop,
of the blue i hadn’t won at oxford:
the driver to cover,
suddenly alive to the possible that he and i were lover
as i sharpened eye and pencil,
(on paper).
the next moment was new beginning
and very slow like June i walked as ghost to the pavilion.
To dance to time backwards,
with neither flesh nor bone
in step to the last syllable:
a first bar to put an end
to race, wars and religion.
The sort of party
-all completely good natured –
levelling up things.
Would that be so bad ?
Held by the light of moon:
as out of the crypt we crept mad
with nobody watching except our friends,
everyone dancing a shade unclad.
Any description will do – even resurrection –
Here at Gravesend.
Whether thieving in Ealing,
Looting in Tooting
Or mortars in Bayswater.
Heavens !
Whatever ends you from,
Let not clouds descend
On Kensington.
so we bless god for this our genesis,
in splendour silent
where there is more to print
literally;
we print more in green ink;
gladly, gladly
we pioneer
with heads of heads,
news
where blinded and broke –
busted,
with bills to pay with more bills
along a stony path of thrills
littered with i owe you’s,
silent.
by another name, the nameless wood:
a strenuous monotony of being awake
where i could not go on
but did
to the middle of a vision
to walk and go beyond
going to the limit
to hear only the echo of footsteps
in my viewless, steady tread.
i had no more lust for knowledge
even its branches
suspended even from sleep talk
to know more about my sleepwalk –
in this soft earth only secrets.
as i realised the senses between night and morning
are nameless.