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POST-LYRIC DIRT

SIMON GREGORY

for Stephen Wattswho cares

Parndon Press

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2007 Simon Gregory

Some of these poems have been printed &distributed as handbills

published by The Parndon Pressc/o 17a Oakley Square EstateSomers Town, London NW1 3MK

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You enter the night of first enchantment:the fuzzy moon smiles damply downour constellations dont make her botheredshed join us here but you

would outshine her tricksy radiancewith a purity as strong as anger isoh my beloved in the sparkling city nightwe move as if across the heavens

where you are queen & perfectionI am lit only by that your radiancea dark & undiscovered satellite

some shadow other soul.

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The bombardment of people frightens the thoughtsthey hide like little micesubstitute for them smiles & a quick responseour message of exchange

Beneath the tall buildings we do all cowerflocking & migratingup above where the storks & cranes livetheir plumage elegant & white

In this city the many little ones are threatenedwe group in shifting massesas we frighten eachother through our folly

they will feed.

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This is the up after the downwith a constant passage through timeI fear this mazetakes us only back to some beginning

These little streets blossom into glasshow heavy all that light islike all wasteshollowing the hard ground with bombs

The rats creep between the holeslearning the secret paths in the darkI envy them

unexposed to the full weight of light.

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This city is built of lightlike ghosts are & dreamsharsh & unforgivinglike something dropped from God

Its noise is like sweatyou are crowded into herdseverything under a metal skyits lights are eyes

They are mouths devouring usyour flesh is already petrolit is rubbish

scattered in the blocked off doorway.

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How can we escape the devourers?here in these streets we are overlookedthey have planned our hiding placeslike children playing a cruel game

In the blankness of a total nightwe might escape but theylight it with small fierce starswatching us like dogs

Once we are gone they will eat themselvesthey know this & blame uswill hunt us through the streets

like rats.

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Arent we harvested like fulmars? ah Godthere is something that plucks us uptoo quickly even to vomit outthe oil, meat & membranes

In these constellations of lightsee their cruel nests up highevade them with great grace & cunningnot even love will let you by

The hidden beak strikes blindly outlocked into obsessions dreamkeep in the dark & quiet places

this light is not your lover.

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I speak only uighur also darito note how the sun creeps on later each daysoon too we shall miss his arisinghe will soar up now triumphant

These languages are difficult & beautifulfit to hymn Gods vicegerent the sunin vain the sibilance & horror of our enemiesa language obscure as that of Kush

Now just flat wet pavements flowgleaming the days light cold & fluida colossal & still clearness: no words

match this moment.

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Why is this all so vivid? as ifeverything is filled by ghostsa tremulous meniscus of luminescencepeering above the crown of the head

Carlights dancing like jewels in the dirtwhich is what we love I hope isnt it?sparkling & liquid: it isan insect world

Perpetual in its enmeshed desiresso many simple wills move onwardoverflowing themselves like a handful of glasses

the generous prodigality of being.

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If this were the lyric youd be in songeach word coasting around like a small birdflocking in joy & bewilderment about your headlike the crown of flies above those who are dying

You wouldnt be able to escape these wordstheir fierceness of intent like angry beesmove with them in just the right way humming& tell them about your dead

But these words fly off different:like cuckoos or wasps searching parasiticallygraceless but effective yet locked in fatally

at the mercy of contingent meaning.

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I translate this from a strange language I dont readand speak it under force like retchingsmy throat gags through mouthrape

The drifting constellations of its consonants bar

full meaning from any utterance: it failswith no new word

It is the language of our enemies (do not mentionthem)omnipresent as they are & at all times silenttheir language like us a failed experiment

Good only for talking to deathall the discourses resolving downdark full corrosive emptiness.

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Something is held still by impossible forces:that would be the start: to free& then locate like a gas leak the sourcea bright blue flame put out of the wall

A tongue of fear but it isnt hothow you parse this with what noiseyou follow oh making deep & tolling musicspreferable to those of birds

Flocking now like magnet-pulled granulesself-ordering under forces actant at distanceoccult & perceived only in effect

attractors to this burning lie.

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The english poets gather in the neoclassicalthey are most suave & assuredeach one is marked by his bloodlinesgrey tattoos upon the forehead

Paralleling the swags & entablatures abovefecund & fluid each plane blossomsa crazy but controlled breeding of excessfruitions of dusty plasterwork

I fear this whole ensemble is a trapa neural bypass built above the doordont you know how to behave in a place like this?

egg & dart: egg & dart.

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Being ill I lose control of language& of memory too: utterance forbiddenbut the most modern systems yet unplummettedblur all boundaries: dedichotomise

With suavity the ghosts will assume their placesthey dance between us like similesmetaphorising instantaneously thus:warm fuzzy alternating with severe clarity

One of the holders is probably slippingmatching the headlong progression of this universethrough itself I think: you do expect

a resolution then?

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The sun off stone & brancheslike the noise of next doors childrencrying & laughing or the smells of dinnersother lives moving out to greet

Off the branches because a great connection linksall things

just by having been put down herethis is the place the one placeborn into it unchoosing

And no escape until it shits us outinto the lightless cold outside again

that bad parent who left us for deadresting on this stone in sunlight.

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Today was the end of historyI became elated outside the supermarket:striding across the carpark as if under compulsiona vlkerwnderung through constellations of cars

They map precisely where we have got toas this endpoint piles up with pastnesscold & bright the light scintillatinglike lightning through constellations of cars

Their smooth anonymity & suavitylike people ignorant of where history isnow stuck fallen over like a broken bike

underneath the vast whirling of constellations.

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The kindliest ones are come to uslook! through the infinite hyaline & persimmonthe cold fluid that laves our facesthey approach with lightlessness

Whatever forms we praise their excellencethey must descend & feedthe cold glory of their coming a summonsa renewal of our basal compulsion

To lie in the crystallising air& sleep: that is best: in the morna strange white fluffy blanket like a babes

will cover up the lost.

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Note again the grass crunching underfootyou must realise this is crystallisation:a rigid geometry inscribed across wetwarewhich often here falters

Before this world of rhinestones & lyric momentshard & brittle under passionate skiesstained with sexual excitation almost phthiticin its brief hectic glamour

While the trudge around under slows itselfso that motion & energy leach outsublime back to the highest godhead

remote cruel & unconcerned.

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The power is now I think with the incapablethose who have led us to this place & left us:in a blind spot at the edge of the abyssthe whole world curves into

Or else it is like a maze where they have forgottenwhatever the outside of it is: only herea single dimension infolded now endlesslylike a huge tapeworm

Or mud: an exposure travelling to every horizoninchoate & polluted: the earths bowels released it(someone made a mistake) & it will enlarge

to stain eternity.

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Outside the world is a tall place of darknessthose who rule live there above usin the worst of nights they are nearly visibletheir terrible presence remains

The night streets all lead here: the glittering plazasall end in threatened defiles we chokelike worthless ghosts: no respite is possibleat the edge of all cities

What we cut into: another place of their feedinglike a colossal mill turning through the heavenspoles

as darkness sweeps around darkness in the outsidein the hunger of the unalive.

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At any moment you can end it:escape left to the river by Leman Streethead right to the drinking dens & artists: look!I have escaped & you will shelter me

The shadows of the white towers are large but just shadows, patches that shift & vanish:their dark denizens have power over all our livesbut not in ways that lead simply to death

Robustness & desire: these are good &simple decent happiness: it driveslike a sort of weird getaway car

a flash of sparks & smoke then gone!

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If we project out our fear into the darknessits also on the bright white sunto pour back against us like rainsoaked in the misery of our own construction

Blotting out the stars we forgetthe brilliant constellations we have set upburning through the night like jewels like fountainsthe diagrams of our hearts laid bare

Not a blade of grass we have not plantednot a speck of dirt we didnt makethe wet filthy puddles mirror us

scrying glasses into our hope & fear.

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Oh to be living sequestered nowwhere a quiet valley bends into the seaits sward unshadowed & unlit:night & day just chasing like an old married couple

No more funny business at all:quiet strolls as evening decides to closethen a long cold drink on a wooden verandahwhere the lights of the sea & the land begin to burn

Yes constellations or maybe more like a flockingan ingathering of human presence in this cooling airwhich presses about us like the hyaline fluid

like the mysteries of Gods & our own true being.