SPIDER LIES

I was eight fingers,
spinning a lie, eight legs
and a web. No cunting flies
could get me or kiss me.
I fingered my threads
like a harpist; foot spittle
that felt their intrusions.

Spiders never marrry.

Eight lies. A dog.
A bird coccooned in silk.
A feather duffed with dust.
My mother and father
spun like thread. A stiff web.
Spiders never marry.
Gay men never kiss.

JOYSPRICK DREAM

To know someone else beyond love and hate, beyond vanity and remorse,
beyond human possibility almost, is his extravagant desire.


1.


To Bed — To Bed!
About your drawers? This is all nonsense darling.
the last drop of seed has hardly been squirted;
tender, pitiful worship of you.


2.


Write the dirty words big and underline them
and kiss them and hold them
— never never never —
the passion and sorrow and mystery of life
with your hair flying loose, naked,
to make filthy signs;
your long tickling fingers
in the dark at night did your fingers.


3.


Have I shocked you by the dirty things?
To displease you, something trivial even:
Fuck me into you!


4.


Then you were ashamed,
fingers fondling and tickling my ballocks.
I have come and the foolery is over.


5.


I wish you would smack me or flog me?
Are you offended dear?


6.


I dream of you in filthy poses sometimes,
cunt is a mass of slime.
No use continuing.


7.


But make me get myself cured,
(dirtiest are the most beautiful?)
obscene and secret and filthy;
the two parts of your body —
body wriggling wildly.


8.


You hand an arse full of farts that night,
the wet and windy farts I imagine fat wives have,
those heavenly exciting filthy words
— fat and stiff —
feel a man's or a boy's cock
(wants me to roger her arseways)
Now for your questions!


9.


Shit? I wonder how you do it?
Came off through your fingers
in as many new ways as your lust would suggest;
a whorish movement of your mouth.
Shit it down softly.


10.


Even to meet my eyes
my dirty little fuckbird;
obscene word I remember well
you want me to lick your cunt.


The love of my verse
stop with a click of revolver,
dirtiest fucking thing I ever gave you,
little cock at the end of your cunt.


11.


Sudden immodest noise,
hands clutching the round cushions.
"Darling mine, I love you!"
The kitchen table.
"Fuck up, Love! Fuck up, Love!"
Finger or fingers up into
— fuck fuck fuck fuck —
The open shape of your upturned dress,
frigging your cunt in the closet.


12.


My little frigging mistress! My little frigging whore!
Even not in play
your shameless tongue came bursting out,
a whore's glow in your slumberous eyes.
"Do you come in the act of shitting?"
"Hand or hands under?"


13.


Be sure you sprinkle the legs of them.
Slip inside like mice.

FAMILY PROCEDURE

1. THE JUDGE OPENS PROCEEDINGS


The purpose of the judiciary is not
to rule on moral matters, only legal
issues may be heard. We care for facts,
things we can touch or hear, sense,
no conjecture from the opposition.


2. THE FACTS


Mr. Harris was married to Mrs. Harris.
Mr. Harris had three children.
Mr. Harris had three boys; Michael, John, Luke.
Mr. Harris struck his wife in malice.
Mrs. Harris was covered in bruises.


3. CONJECTURE


Mrs. Harris was struck by Mr. Harris in malice.
Mrs. Harris bore sadly three boys; Michael, John, Luke.
Mrs. Harris kept an untidy house.
Mrs. Harris knew everyone in her street.
Mrs. Harris was covered in bruises.


4. SUMMING UP


The judge had heard enough and told the jury
to listen hard to calls for acquittal.
In particular, could evidence of bruises
be considered alongside speculation
of violence from three boys; Michael, John, Luke?


5. VERDICT


Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.
Not guilty. Guilty. Not guilty.
Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.
Not guilty. Guilty. Not guilty.
Mrs. Harris kept an untidy house.  

LAST REFUGE OF THE CRACKPOTS

That tall house on the left, up there,
is where they shut them up; the cracked
and their lolling, jabbering tongues,
talking all the time about their lives,
refusing to perform the simplest routines
like being nice. They shut them up,
with sticky–tape and glue on all the doors
and windows, they couldn't let their thoughts
escape on an unsuspecting public;
the sexually depraved, the rippers and strippers,
the queers, the whippers, jack–booted
women in lumberjack garb, the different, 
the anyones doing anythings to anyothers.
INSERT PENIS HERE! Not just them; the mad,
the almost mad, the angry, the sad,
the disabled, the foreigns, the wogs, the thinkers,
anyone who thought, the drunks. The house was tall
to catch their dreams. At night they had them.
Outside you could hear them shouting
bits of language — Das Kaninchen ist unter
den Fernseher! Die Katze ist auf dem Tisch!
Whackjobs, the lot of them, learning a thing
like that! But, night, it was like the house glowed,
a soft rainbow warming the evening air around it,
spotting celestial bodies through darkness encroaching.
Now they've gone. That tall house on the left,
up there, is where they shut them up.

VILE AFFECTIONS or A TONGUE TWISTER

for SM

Shut them in,

With their triumphs and their glories and the rest.

Love is best.

— Robert Browning

Lips, interlacing labias with lips, and labias

of lesbians, lipped and licked and interlocked.

The love of lesbians on tongues and lips

and clitoris and clitoris are licked and rolled

like tongues that flit like hummingbird wings

over labia and loll like bodies rolled together,

linked and locked. The legs of lesbians laced

and licked and kissed, the skin, the labia,

the clitoris are kissed and kissed. The love,

that locks the lesbians in linked embraces,

lifts the vulva and the pelvis into orgasm, is Bliss.

HOLY PALMERS

Wet hands thoroughly before applying washing agent.

Rub palm to palm.

Right palm over left dorsum and left palm over right dorsum.

Palm to palm fingers interlaced.

Backs of fingers to opposing palms with fingers interlocked.

Rotational rubbing of right thumb clasped in left palm and vice versa.

Rotational rubbing back and forwards with clasped fingers of right hand in left palm and vice versa.

Rinse and dry hands thoroughly.

HUDSON COUGHS IT ALL ON TAPE

It wasn't Nixon on tape in the White House over Watergate, but JFK
doing the voices, and wasn't shot in the Dallas motorcade in '63, Please!
He held two marbles and half a glass of water in his mouthto be Nixon. His impression
of Jack Ruby, who didn't shoot him or his doppelgänger (Ladybird Johnson's
illegitimate brother in prosthesis and wig), was legendary. Some said
he could be him, but I never believed them. Lady B J's brother was shot
by none other than Marilyn Monroe, the bombshell assassin, who overdosed
in Soho, England, seven years later than thought. Judy had been dead donkeys'  
and they couldn't keep up the carousel of drag queens who played her in shows.
They were damaging the brand. Of course they removed bones, the femurs,
to make Monroe fit. A stray Gitanes by the corpse almost gave the game up.
Judy smoked Lucky Strike (DO YOUR HOMEWORK BOYS!). That fag, Ruskee, Deans,
had to be silenced, "retired" to a haunted mansion in Cleveland. Princess Diana?
You mean you haven't figured that out? It was Mohammed Al-Fayed who drove
the white Punto through the Paris drizzle that night. It was jealousy and whiskey
that fuelled him. Nothing to do with me or Prince Philip, whatever you think.
There was no shotgun wielding motorcycle outrider, whatever you say.
Just a man and his grief funded by MI6, who class him as a double agent.
They played him. Which brings us to September 11th and Nixon again, with a beard
in an arid cave, crying for Allah, on videotape, his voice all marbles and water.