Lament for Ferdinand (part 1, possibly)

Expressed by an Amalfitan lunatic


Hell's pompous stillness hugs that bier!

But this is the sole funeral

Too hot for Hell's fine train.

Where are the white pearls, where

The damned girls? they pace

His Eminence's obsequy, I know them,

sure! And daintily they pace;

Women in black like clean

Red robes, so they forget the smirches.


But the Cardinal's brother's assemblage

Is still - myself, my mutt Minos, I doubt

That ducal dower-soul itself;

What about madam Duchess?


No we'll talk of her later. Skirted.

The healthy will never leave her alone.

I want to think about the premature

Ly stinking body, about unhammered

Cobbles. I want to touch the Maltese Cross

That glints where it was left for protocol.


I will redeem my friend the duke!

I'll redeem all my wolf-friends, every moon

Dweller. In Amalfi of amelancholic moods

Tonight is true for every freak in town.

Message Not Wall For Your Honour's Sake

I'm also still up at 12:whatever

Doing an essay. We have yet another

Common bond. Sleep with me

And our essays will magically

Be completed. I await

Your arrival. The radiator is

On and the room is warm

And fuzzy, the Indian wrap is spread out,

The Anne Bronte flung away...

vamos mia pequena

vamos

vale?

To A Severe Damsel, On Not Going To Cowley

Call me not bastard, sweet, nor craven

That from deepest Cowley

Spurning thy bright, expansive haven

To Jericho I flee.


For no new mistress shall I chase,

Nor shall I chase at all,

But read and brood on book of face

And laze from brow to gall.


Do not censure my fickleness,

You too it should adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not comfort more.


(after Lovelace)

Starting this notebook; an apology

I didn't really take you in,

Nor think, even, of using you.

Are you my mother's gift or Clem's?

And are you pleased to find your pen?


You child of French Ornate Slim Notes,

You'll find a strange marriage I think.

Here sight fluctuates from the screen,

Here musk disturbs the radio,

Here clouds are oldest warmest friends:

They do not mock as shining things.


And I will grant you many grooms,

Identical, fickle and cheap,

They'll bite your pulp 'till worn out by their gnaw.

You can't rely, though, on these staging rules.


Not even at the start of term -

You will not bear Virginia's annals,

You'll have to learn Conjugia's weird tropes.

We will not learn together.

We'll get on.

The Ballad of the Yellow Soup

Carrot and celeriac

Caraway and cumin trace

Buck took them and he mulched them

For the Yorkshire provender.


Jack Buck he sojourns pretty lone,

He takes his brown beard on and off,

He talks to his suppliers and

He dreams of Beorhtnoth.


"Dig them out, them carrot roots

Wash them, mash them through

They give us an aesthetic

In an optimistic goo"


So I bought it from the provender

'Neath Jericho's rampart

Now come and sup this soup with me

Provender of my heart


Mister Buck is not good looking

Neither is celeriac

But I am dark and smouldering

And visually Assyriac -


Liquid sunlight under stars

Swig it back then dream

Of the effects it might have had

Granted a little cream -


But caraway and care away

You will not come with me to drink

Which makes me want to writhe and howl

And hurl Buck's potage down the sink,


Because I would eat dill for you,

As gravadlax or on its own,

Because I would spurn lamb for you,

Carved from the most succulent bone,


And now I'm just a cumin seed

I hope that Buck goes bankrupt soon.

Pallas and the Centaur

Perhaps it was a strange choice

but it happened to be right.

She hasn't smiled once yet

though it's pressing on for night


And the others would be riding hell

For leather home for stag,

And their thighs would drape my haunches

'Till my blazing back might sag -


But they've been told they're beautiful

And only beauts they'll take

So they canter us and lame us

For some Lapith hero's sake.


I have picked another mistress,

My offering is now clear:

Will she smile ere she ends me?

Does she hope to make me fear?


She will strike me when she softens.

My eyes, 'till then, are still

Fastened at her corse's nexus,

Tensened to extract its fill.

To Marguerite - Continued, by Blondie

Yeees!!! Yesss! Yesss!!! Eniiiiiisled,
Yess!!! Thrown tween straits yeesss
Shoreless yeaa, wiild
Take me with a nightingaaaale
Cross some soouunds on starry nights

Ohhhhhhhhh! It's like despair
My longing, ohhhhh!
Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhhh
Why? Ohhh Why can't our marges
Why why why ohhhh
Meet again meet meet meet ohhhhhhh....

Ohhh my longing, ohh my fire
Longing fire ooo ooo ohhh
I'm gonna kill a God God yeah yeah
And pickle him in salt. Yeah.