Forth Poem

Goest, you say, to hell, says I

with rats on tails, backwards

shiny bastards in caves haunt

down, downy

Closed-off mouths.

When I die, oh, when I’m gone,

Thurl be one rat down and a rat to carry down

Take care and drown

Go east, follow licked fingers

under the rising sun, Keeping

low to earth damp dug with almond

fingernails, burrowed, then tunneled

through

to

the bottom. And at the bottom,

pockets emptied, undressed, lapis

eyes limpid as swimming pools and tears

expunged torn or bitten

back, a herd

of flies flying o’erhead, Above too,

Below, a plea. A mistake,

milk spilt, blood churn, expelled,

expelled, gone out, and screaming.

As in childbirth.

I’s plucked loose, hanged up-

side down to dry, ghost to the

wall. No ghost moan. 4 free days.

Maggoty eyes, copse rot, fairies fly

and two. From clay from the carvèd

tree throne from the great great grand

father from Above. To the blanched

world to bleach to the un-world to

the space inside to ward the brink au-delà

flesh to the dead and back.