Scream and
Beckon and
I own
A water filter
she
worms
worms
worms
in the water
filter or not
there are serpents in paradise
this eden you murdered your discontent to own
oh kiss me quick
i’m fading away
it’s all this malice
eating at my angelic contours
save me …
He
Let me massage you with flower essence
Let me fry you sardines
Let me kiss your cuts and scratches better
Let me plait your saffron hair
Wings stretched East
To West and West to
East, I welcome the
Gift of your arrival
I think I have been
Waiting all my life
To try out the best
Parts of myself
Touch me.
she
my wings are tinged
with blush
beware
when i weep
there’s no stopping
this stuff
pouring
from the circles
of my soul
and i observe
that my cheeks
now itch with bumps
and welts
i think
it’s
pollution
Part Two
He
I need a woman
To live for
Play the piano to
Cook and have babies with
Share a bed
An address
To measure the sum of my self against
I’m getting on you know
I wake up in the morning
There’s a little pile of hair
On the pillow
A deciduous
I’ll drop my leaves
For you any day
I am here
In all my shedding glory
For you to
Love.
she
you want a woman
to complete
your plan but
it’s not my plan
it’s not my plan to be completed by you
i keep falling
in and out
of myself
just as i fell out of paradise
i like it that way
sometimes i don’t like it that way
for better
or worse
it’s the only way
He
You would destroy my fragile peace
(if you could)
With all the fury of the dispossessed
Look at you hovering above my porcelain egg-cup
You are too big for my possessions
And my possessions are too big for you
Linked as they are to an earthly family tree
I cannot find you on Google, no road no house
No town no country, all you bring to me
Is pain
she
discontent is not unattractive
the stage magician who knows nothing of alchemy
and plucks bright balls
from his sleeves grinning
is far more hideous than you
He
Discontent is not an achievement
It is not something to win
Like poker or golf or an Oscar
You are suffering
From the absence of
God.
Look how you flap
Your torn wings petulantly
At my modest wallpaper
she
i am suffering
from absence point
blank, there’s
a hole in my heart
tween you and me
a long-maned horse
could jump through it
with room to spare
He
Hey, Hey!
Let’s let the good times roll
Into the horse-shaped hole in your heart
Listen I’m under the
Influence of your sleazy
Vowels … I’m going all funny
And my eyes are shining!
she
aw …
i love you
like this!
He
C’mon sweetie
Squeeze into the motor
Let’s do 30 when we should do 20
Lets roll over the speed bumps
Let’s do that now
While my tank is full
And the price of petrol
Is stable
she
just one moment
while i take
this fishbone outta
my teeth.
He
No. You’ve lost
The moment. It’s
Gone. Stanley is
Himself again.
she
be someone else
pleeeeeeeeze. just for
the helluvit.
He
You hurt me
With your desire
For other. I am
Who I am and I
Am fond of myself.
she
now you
made me cry with pity
for my poor undone self. all ruffled
and done in
by aristotle’s concept of unity.
(384–322 BC)
He
What do you want
From a human lover?
An
Abstract and
Totally useless
Way of seeing to
Plunge
Toes
Waving
I know you swim at sunrise
With the newts and water voles
In the mud and silt of our Thames
Buffeted by currents and the wash from boats
(I have to blow-dry your wings for hours after)
No one would have you
Wet and melancholy
(You’re sort of inconsolable)
Weeping tears of gas
Over the spires of north Ilford
Talk to me straight
Like a motorway
Stay in the left lane
Do not use the hard shoulder
Do not drive against the traffic flow
It’s a straight conversation.
she
sit here.
Yes here.
that’s nice.
straddle my angelic
hips
with yr small town
thighs.
He
Like this
My sweet feathery
Tormentor?
she
it will do.
you ask what i want from a human lover?
i’ll tell you straight
like a motorway
a clang! a clamour! a new expression!
He
That sort of dumbwitted answer
Infuriates the logic
That makes me employable
she
it is true
i am a little feverish
soon i will fly to frinton-on-sea
to raise a glass with jane lynne thorburn at the three crowns
and then move on to campohermoso
to catch up with francisco rodriguez garrido
trouble is
there are knots in my hair
trouble is
the world is murderously mad
climate maladies, pharmaceuticals
lack of privacy, arms trade possibilities
child marriage in yemen and other tragedies
i will have to look (again)
at aristotle
(384–322 BC)
who i have mentioned
before.
under his
toga is much to peruse.
if i was to try on his
theory of tragedy
and agree it imitates human acts
i would have to come to the angelic conclusion
that if i was to imitate the acts of human beings
i would have to imitate her not as she is
but as she could be
He
Erm … I find your
Angelic hips alienating.
You thrash about in some bedlam
For the winged and divine
Forgetting you have a mortal
On your knee. My moustache is
Full of froth. I don’t understand
Say again what you said?
she
i said nothing
i said nothing
i said looking