POEPASS TRYPORT

I

the book of poetry    is    full of a crushed
poet the pages    are    littered with his    bits

& bones &    guts the black    frame of him
illumined with blood bronze & golds by slow

decaying process the hot    smell    of print
coming    off    the stone-white page    each

page an ever new    er    version of a poet's
skull    another    poet who owned a girl's

name    took    her name apart and re-built
a city of feelings on a single sheet of pale

yellow A5 she    bound    this lit city be
tween a sea & a star-filled print    -eater    The

Prynne    teater like God told    stars to blink
as voices trying (for)    sound & the poetry

book of human bits began to growl an alpha
bet of creatures & sphinxes it was    a mermaid

that finely read a girl's city    & the man's
poem-body all stitched    up    with a thing

          ness of an    other same world


II

is break    neck red    containing a flitter of
where    abouts    each stamp is the    gong
of a land &    The World    you fled    is

clamped on the decorated    pages as you pass
through one portal(l) to    a next & by    going
through your own photo    graph begin abroad

is another    else & be    queen or king of a
region of stray(nge)    bones moving    fur
ther away from home    the passport will be

benign with its red jacket & crown engraved
on its retina    moments    the hologram will
prove it's    you away    from yourself & some

where you were    and are not now and are now
going    from as you go into the pages    are
crinkled on the passport's spoken breakneck at

customs you will be as    asked asked    to expose
a bone page so a whole nation can stamp into
your DNA    the proof    that you came from else

& from where & stayed & left having left scurf


III

the book of poetry full of break neck    crushed
-poet-red containing a flitter    pages littered
with whereabouts his    bits & bones & guts is
the gong of the land    black from him fled the

world you clamped illumined    with blood on
the decorated pages    bronze & gold as you pass
through being you through    one    the slow
decaying process the portal to the next    hot

smell of print going through your    own    won
coming off a stone wear    photos begin a broad
page each page is another    else & be    a new
version of a poet's queen    or king skull    another

region of stained bones a girl's name took moving
further away    her name apart    of the built home
& passport will    a city of feeling be benign with
its red    single sheet of A5    jacket & crown en

graved    bound this city on its retina moments
a sea & star-filled hologram will prove    the print
you away from yourself like god    told stars you
somewhere you were not    blink like voices trying

going from you for sound    & poetry go into the
pages' book of human bits crinkled on the passports
begin to growl    an alphabet spoken breakneck
creatures & sphinx's at    customs    you will be



a mermaid that    asked    to expose a bone finally
read the girl's page to a whole nation    a city of
man can stamp into DNA a poem-body    all stitched
the proof that you came    up with the thingness from

else & where & stayed    of another same world left    

                        having left a scruff






SHEDDING
For Janet

wearing the warm wind     wearing away

at me wearing at    some    way the oldest
rocks    hornstone printing into    my back

-skin the wind's    warm torn voices    roll
in my ears guttural but spacious rush hush

weaving my brain    's surface to rippling salt
y see the wind's    empty shiatsu hands    loll

my head my    face    a dish to the sun    fill
ing with light's collected distance    Leicester

in its bowl below    Bradgate high    g    round
as majestic as Sydney today    soft September

glints    a mother-board processing people    my
eyes close over now wearing    the warm wind

tears on    my skin tears    at my skin the wind
rooting up my nostrils rips    off my face over

& over &    over    again my mask    stretched
with    the wind my skin    a flapping flag ever

lengthening the    wind copies    my expressions
over    &    over carries    copies of my    miles

down an old land copies    of off    my face my
bones & meat & guts all bl    own over rove

out & out &    out a    cross hope's vast digesting
space    like leaves leaving the oak trees    face

                  flung to    air all    ways


         Mark Goodwin 2006