DANTE & THE BIG PIG

[Séamas Cain]

_______________


DANTE & THE BIG PIG

wireless, touch a shore
in the negativity of iron ore

write, write as if the future exists

the waxfruit wax fruit
but a microscopic stain

& a frost of trees for the

fishnet fish net at night

wires touch the earth
yes wires touch the earth
the pejorative rainbow
or the bag of rainbow

the armamentarium
or the sinologue

Hmmmmmmmmmm, yes, but
the onrushing mass of verbiage
is proving to be too much

the fear of fur & fin spume
on cambered wings of cathedral

or the indelicate reference
to me as a sea creature
what a predicament
on a rainless plateau

the euphoric stonecut letters
& the cheap cheap paper

every window will be smashed
by bits & pieces of purple chalk

once again the pattern is one
of a movement from seeming
organization to disintegration

beat me, beat me
to a frazzle the long
worm that has no turning

feel your own pulse as the
rice growing off the stalks or
the corn falling off the stalks

i eat the asparagus as a
bulldog revolves beyond
the destroying of dogs

i am beyond soap & water

a football in the ruins of my hands

a fictional echo chamber with
no overtly logical transitions
between the silvery voices

the bulldog revolves in tweed

as a knock comes to my door

i touch my slightly reddish nose

for the better part of an hour, as
sure as eggs are what they are

i move in a sea of thought the dim
impersonal narrative of an explorer

i had drunk something out of a bottle
to save myself anxiety, in lyrical earnest

the question & answer format, as convoluted
& seemingly distanced as it can be at times

never give a book to a Frenchman
for it will be pouring with rain
yes it will be pouring with pain

a pig has experienced pain

the pig comes in at 10 keel

the pig is a keen dancer but there
is an indelicacy to the situation

it's a strange world, of rash rash acts

a brick moves through plateglass
on the fish isle fish isle fish isle

the fucking sea stallion
for the black black ochre
of the cannibals of London

the slaughter of wrinkle

not what you would expect Dante to write

what an ugly grin

larking with a boy

& his theft of a leg of pork

i am sipping some stout
my face reduced to a pulp

i am sipping the pig in bed with my cud

i drink some milk from a bottle

as people find me chewing an apple

it should be stated that these
words demonstrate a sundering,
rather than a coming together

if nothing else, there is no fusion and form

there has always been a whatness
in the work of a pig or a poet

_______________

Séamas Cain 
http://seamascain.writernetwork.com

_______________

-- 

Whatever you Wanadoo:
http://www.wanadoo.co.uk/time/

This email has been checked for most known viruses - find out more at: http://www.wanadoo.co.uk/help/id/7098.htm