Mer mori
“redour til treasury” raise on
the head death
herding herald of soundhorn logicked wail
steps on these weaveyards, as
beholden-trapeze,
growing wheat of indigestible soil, carcass
and shit:
feed for a military of birds flocking
to a maison of witch-joy walls – a plaster
of Paris
taken scorn route of combat
for the sake of union of ancienne
regalities.

A love among limestone caves,

breath through eyes awash of salts
with short skins of nitrate.
Bring me prismatic                gasps,
One-Iris and a           blow of golden flowers
Wave,                                winding to
sternum
An ill flotilla of b u t t e r f l i e s
snapped 

by
ocean-
in-fiction.

(““`) Mer curialle (,,,,,)


“no telos but I still see straight ahead/straits out to the heads.” “the ocean is invisible” “the water is the same warmth as my skin, I do not feel wet.” “cold sharp grass on the Hebrides’ dunes”
“History dissolved in the stomachs of phi – fish
With rough matte river” “plate scales
Pointing at half past ten.
Laughing” “ teens on shore
With heads over bank
Spy
         darting        whiting.”
“Each fin flap” and     “tail sweep”
“Like clocks              stirring foam”
“Widdershins project
Brief lifetimes.”
“The young squint”
“cajoling to share
In round union”
“gnomic saga – giggle as whisper –
from birth till one
Till seven” “in the morning “field,
bright” “with sheaf to waking
sans” “dreaded scatter.

Smiling” “bouquet
held in hand.”
“the gift of awed witnessing.

The young point”
Did you see that?
That was when I first
learnt to read. Worduction.”

I see your story. There you are
Reading, sitting on a small wooden chair
fastened by painted black bolts. Your hair
Is black. Your uniform is grey. This is
a classroom. Your exercise book, covered
In gluey yellow cellophane, slippery plastic,

Has the longest story of the class. An undone epic.
 You had done enough unfinished.”



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