HUNGERCANDLE

From: "SIRENS"

That is until the morbid greening of sex
(Is it greening?)

Possibly the result of a lack of ointments 
Adequate (legal) council 

Everyone is still insisting that three or four minutes 
Of perfectly performed linguistic coercion is dingy 

(Think bulbous)
(Think paranoid)
(Think gigantic squid)














Or is it because the sex is inevitably boat-like?
Its shares plummeting streetwise 

How Latin 
How swallow 

Both an enthusiastic yes 
But only if we’ve already agreed on the 
Meaning of dropping mother’s stash of
Personal lubricants out into the sea 

I could put out a plate of almonds 
I could read the last three or four sentences out loud 
Something that inevitably hits the eye like a young spruce 

(And the concept of)
(And the gilding of)
What else could we possibly mount at this late hour?


I was in Cambridge 
I was in Toledo
I was in Athens Greece 
Dreaming of a beautiful yellow sweater 
Dreaming of a pair of beautiful brown slacks 
They say whoever can fall asleep with that degree of mathematical certainty 
They say the opposite of pretty much anything is
Sand that starts in the cunt and then ends up like so many unremembered lozenges            
(Left in the sun)
The hormones are fragile they say 
And so
And so
We are left with nothing b
But to sit on the floor cross-legged and talk until all hours about the fabric mind               
Various kinds of throat-work
(Never really adequate) 
(Even in the spleen)

This beautiful silver phone in my hands 
This beautiful silver couch in the corner 
We all know it’s the scaffolding of language that bites 

(Despite)
(Or because of)















What we were taught was reason’s soup 
Or maybe prolapse 
(What green?)
The green that (strips) the bark back
Ever so softening 
To the tune of 
(Piano keys)
(Horse meat) 
(Dung)
Or a keeping of saints in the pool 
(Drowning) 
(What next?)
I’ve told everyone I’ve ever fucked that I’ve evolved past fucking 
(And now)
My personal details are dormant 
My fax machine
My Rolodex