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David Grundy
 

for simon howard

the rain is hard and it is fierce
in this darkness, there is no rain
imagining pathetic fallacy in this
darkness that is darker than any imagining /
is what we are really living in

poor naked wretches
it is true to say from no king’s perspective
that in the machine they are not human
nothing ever never sleeping

an eye will close and open
it will not open

as music thinking compression in line
you sing this song it will stop
on the dot of the hand marked the clock
off the hours it counted
it told the time
in furious fragment gentle

naturally in memory it was dark
and ornaments clustering around infinity
but more than ornaments, in
hell’s infinity despite
never to say there is no more hope to see

as a glimpse of light

a bird is singing inhuman music
and seen on the screen it smashes
in loving memory
fingering the string threads
exquisite beads
not sold for hope
but made in love
in human love

the bird is in the cage
we are dreaming when ringing
it sings to the bell by the sea
never to say an image or sound away from reality
as remainder reminding
is patterned as patina echoic in reading

in the house a creature speaks
falling sleet and sleep
you will never wake
in winter there are rags
a human inside

in this city
you cannot sleep within
you cannot sleep without
its wall
will all fall
down

09.12.13

(2)

this song whistles or
a bird out gunned
a bird a bridge a bird out
walks. the limby plank /
a bird
called
out
.

feathers make a coat, this covering
a singing paradigm
for nature-culture divide
to cover naked harmony of body
in shivering infancy
a cursed nursey
cursed nursery
imagined as prettily a song as shat below

the bird was sad
the bird was mad fun in electric convulsion
shock jock therapy experiment
can’t stand too much of the sky its foodstuff
its fairytale fodder for greedy consume
-r marketed birds too
was knocked for six on woody grove
was hung and quartered
as a bauble brilliant in christmas
bright festive in original murder celebration
or vague intimations of communism inhalation
as fumes of burning bridges makes hatchets unburied corpses exquisite smiles and
dancing chattering teeth go clack clack
venereally yours with metaphoric disease
inside the heart it hurts to go in
but in you must with white and red
the stained and speckled flag
was raised against the head
of day it shut down instantly
the eye was false was gross intact
but jellied fat spread out the weakest legs
as twigs they snapped

this is not as tight or as caustic as you.
were. is not literally in allegory
the sun at midnight
eye
and eye asleep
it woke as insects and folkloric
song.voice.no stars. a land with symbolic revolution statues
in bits and ashes smashed and spread
as butter on a dead
moon another planet
exited.done.gone
dusty with care.

(3)

(paradise)

dry up and be bleeding yet
bandaged and not more upset
than homeless trash in blackened alley
burned carsick fume with exhaustion
eyes. forgot this was a joke
a stereotypical dying
song as all tenderness
in a crack in a
wind
in jail the traders
in books and flesh
eat the death of
celebrated
fascist
lieder
domestic
the author
begun before being
attached to world as angel
dust as winged
horse slaughtered as pig
in skyline liner note
does do the can-can
does do embalmed
sculpture
of best rupture moments
when blessed as if by god’s death
& the institution of full communism at last
the insects swarmed the licy kid
in crowded hut in warehouse rut
we walked in /
it was all dangerous and corpses
the sky was wet the child
a hat in hand in heart
a dance a troupe a starry sky
a bleeding quiver
a living representative scum
folk

(after s.h.’s poems in department # 1, 2010)

(4)

please please the strangers sang on
sunday
church is a
shop
after
casually
dropping
off
obligatory troughs
of conservation & deferral
stretching back & forth
in time as fixed unending
obliterative of
obliterative troughs
of hope

as a child eating
icing on a cake
eats
the world. had never been at home
ending everything ending in u.k.
the confines shrunk
& wrapped
night.day.
flash.bang.
the world in a can
dropped off at sea
in misery the radio
droning on repeat
memory is
broken in vowels
is smashed & dressed
& washed
for service
for they always come back they always come
back
.

27.12.13


 

Copyright © David Grundy, 2014.