Thursday, 1 March 2007

For the rotten words we worship

a wryneck for ronv and James Agee

When our best effort grips no pen, last-falling ink illegible;
When deconstructed grins edge tooth and bone;

When graves or ash scatter truth; When the day
drone mutes; the night downs around;

When the fluted thrust of grass or hands evade autopsy;
When: forget roses; When

the breath bankrupts and

hours lose their turn; Then the trust
surrender; Then the joining of hand to hand;

Then a certain mend or heal will crust over eyes [thank you];
Then the blessed scrawls dove-flutter [please];

Then the bells buttressed peal to kindred;
Then naught but kind decay abrawl in rest.

So our free writ remains the epitaph.

When I was first working on this I posted it by accident. Woefully, unfinished. To paraphrase Bruce Campbell: Well maybe I didn’t follow every last wryneck rule, but basically, yeah, I did. Don’t kill me.

Sunday, 4 February 2007

Rust Brother, never can savvy you

a wryneck for Wascovich

If we were rust brothers before the rain and salt   Before
there were no scarcities of tanks to tread

Before the slow toe    warehouse of sound was a real
knife in my head   Before the shine of steel nativity

Before we trussed the tracks for holocaust   Before
sanctity forest murder black-coat cacophony

If we are rust, brother

Th[r]ough beer stale traceries and graffiti pissers
Though rage-cocked shout mastery pays no bills

Th[r]ough the bend sinister wending neighbor indolent
insolence neverending

Though weeks pass between fistclicks Though through
the rough thought caustic chaos meaning emergent life spark

Still we rust brothers