Country is synonymous
I emerged from the bathroom smelling her comb.
in the temple
high-up storks of praising
honey-dewed hair in the bees' sting
weeping listless Maria's smoky
incense lips she breathes puff-pale
white of sage pagan beauty
of innards in willow weave
clipping tips from growing buds
Kost is drawing hymns on pews
sacred movement and obscene utterance
to her scrap-of-grace lover
drawers, metal soup
echoes of crinoline youth
resistance to aging
silk festers, wrinkling
hosiery, the snuffle-shuffle
in the ballroom
the other swinging
her hips expansive
caged in song-bird skirts
Kost liberates the street unpaved
in her teeth, binding books
with golden strings
from her girlfriend's head.
Ebb woke her
breath in rags
of night terror duck-feathered
lisps of life pressing against
her ruff pushing tailor's torso
from her She pads across flags
of shellac carpet to canvas Ð
fingers daubed with sexual scent
decants her vision washing
the dewy whiteness clean
her fingernails the angry
figure of Bearded One appears
wrestling a lizard beyond
the railway bridge.
or Forms of
boot of her hatchback was filled with 1920s records. Musicals of the day
the raw exposition under the body of her decadence curls. Bebelplatz had left
the scent of crop
bar cabaret burnings.
Fresh lacquered waves singeing and sinking. A curtain swings
in a tenement and an ex-prince leans forward, his cross flashing desperate
blowing plumes across the square.
The air auditorium ripples with moon acquired waves. An enamel audience sit
for the grandfather to commence his lean drunken songs.
in the burning theatre.
in the same store. The impassable dead-eyed glinting city.
ash melting on damp arms. A prostitute swimming,
selling her fifth
shouting rehearsal limbs.
Sandy tawdry limbs jump two good stories float
around the girl called Van and the pre-
Broadway chatter encompasses a grass-fed anti-Semitic mutter deep in
pavement and fresh in the Druten landlady's opening rims.
The artist, Ebb, pushes it down
All the while, Kost lies bleeding camera lens
The giants cool in their traditional stumble.
© Sarah Cave