I WENT DOWN THERE DYING

 

I went down there dying

Ram of the eighty third day,

Hound of the ravaging sea

Who licked wine from the pleat of your breasts

Teasing flesh from your sole September dress.

The cracked voice of the ages yet cried

Of dogs who’ll claim their day.

 

Then let mine last forever.

 

Let the fibre of all the Gods’ bowels rot

And the thin lips of the Buddha bleed,

Let the gypsy’s curse and the angry bee sting

Be crushed with the faery lore

Of the four eyed fools that are read

In parched dawns by disciples

Caked in academic dust.

 

The boiling blood of this soldier,

A torrent of scarlet rage, froths forth a fiery

Desire in my throbbing veins,

Driving my snake tongued lust to burn

With quasi dragon flame your crusted dry tomorrows.

 

Slowly,

           Oh,

September

           You

Come

           Upon

Us.

 

 

.

 Mike Mcnamara
Illustration Nick Victor


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