Saturday, January 14, 2017

and dinweird for min jiġbor arlinga

it was the old leech-gatherer
who called them lambs
when they were savage scythians
of revolution and independence
who called them haddocks' eyes
alyche the blind monk chatterton
reeling in his azure rolly-skull
acrosted by peynctings of blackletter
in the attic of its suave and ruined abbey
normal what is normal for those
for lord sligo keeping the hulstred
uncouth and sacrosant twin green
columns safe deep in the klink defs
of westport where their triskelion vorties
and zig zag colours would bear close
iornery to the times in which they slept
first in the agon's mnemonic tomb and later
the windship pylades kissed
with deserters picked up in malta
lord sligo once a boy of 11
listening to the perfect greek grammar
of thomas de quincey at 14
a virgin to opium but high instead on travel
travel is a spirit that might enlighten
the english metamorphosis of any azure skull
"the free planetary system" like any lakeward
idiot boy knows as the village but care look
at some green eleven's symbol
deeper than race gender class or time
these lambs are bright aphids at suck
in chaos as on the pillars of agamemnon
vortex surmounted by vortex
depth behind depths were their labyrinthine
apartments whose galleries ran
through an endless tire
eft swotie and bykrous
heckled in lemes
denwered reles lisseth and boleynge
burled by leggende alloyed
to these gledeynge compheeres
chirkynge mysterk by the lymmed
fage gemoted, its uncted unthewes
our enchafed paramente