ditch,

the poetry that matters

John Moore Williams

John Moore Williams. Previous manifestations of his work have appeared in Shampoo #30, Jack Magazine, Venereal Kittens and are forthcoming from Ectoplasmic Metropolis. He is also an on-and-off fiction, poetry and book review contributor at Black Heart Magazine.

zoom in

amputee's embrace amidst (slagheap city bared rebar of buildings twisted

into nervetrees) a
battle between cannibals (rough singing of limbgrind twisting, interweaved, growing in blackblood pool)

cast for broken bones (the slagheap
shudders, distant heartmurmur of steelbeasts'
growling passage),

dictionary of tongues' (dreams)
escape into that (darkmatterbody, wombs of stars whispering the curve)
flesh everyone has worn (outerworn, splitting, at fingertip's softly bladed insistence)

gaping wound of mouth's (shadowcavern awrithe with light)
hiss between rosaries of teeth (distanceglimmer)

instinct of torsos (sing an ice-age-ending heat)

just a (gloss on the endless fritterings of idle hands)
key to bodies without locks, such a (eye-rhyme of hollows)

lonely way to live (an eaten imminence of the remembered)

morsel, sticky-sweet (recombinant
neck's nape, where we hide kisses genuflections
orange, round and pored of intimacy)

patient (inmates of a decimated land-
question asked in touch and haste (scape)

a rage of (neatly
a silence (expounded

ticket to a run-down carnival where
urgency of fingers and
violence of hips
wound an air shaped like
xylophone's quiet harmonics
yearning toward yourself, a
zoo full of domesticated beasts

 

 

 

 

73

the sexed boat is glad, the at-it boat is in joyful praising as they bend knee to thee. divine nuit is at pieces, the cellars rejoicing; hath overthrone

                                     thighed I

                                     signed enemy

carious legs of ape. glad thighed heart. in the event horizon that is man. you make test light there, godbeautiful, lorn of etern, pierced of outcared.

                                      given ist

                                      thighed enemy

seethe beauties in their abodes and in their habitations. their hands adorn thy double.

 

 

22

suffer us, is; stay various – whom you’ve cloven – is the O most venereal, proactive wax twat, her bane as – her goat cues long reams of pecunious verbs. Putt his hole at the, thousands, some pecked-out plural. Pure shrift, eh? not too fit this incest in palimpsest – real looted: pyres, viral eye, pew-cylinders, new little umbralform pole-ends, pubic ore, thongs, membrane’s pulled plume (oh!) all equated with humid us. How come illegible as tit is and ur-pain as suffer us he’s one satyr-horned, milked cuss, fucker, rare ass of pate or ton of whore the pack pullulates. How could he leave it that messy? modish flurry peeks out the log with the tastiest word-batter. yet then the fag there’s salad-tossed face, the oral facsimile sucks as a poem; no quiet flame – a pest, to pee at his apogee becalmed scribble. to make it goooood, then he’s all auto-onanism. Not pot-holed, but fillable; no jest jazzed that’s not twitterpated revenge fantasies of suffer us – poses so thickly our attitudes of terror: nor do we see the papoose on our pap’s the most.

 

 

23

furious, with no keyhole to service, no key to strongarm, bedslut, chider, hiss of fire space who spumes with father, stets mother, their queer rum of teeth which can well make combustibles of hints, you’re lucky, you, living with your pa rent-free, and cum-conjugal-cunnilingus his tart. Revellous how pale each one of you cunts be, your tried (not true) stomachs, out, you’ll peel no tight fireworks, nor pave ruins, cursive impieties, odorous phenom, all lick cases of beers palled with pearls. Ah your scatology’s drier than porn, outpissed what Major Arid’s doom habits him – so long, frig-it, ass-sore to eat its nothing. Where then may you not be accounted to bliss it? Fuck you sweat’s obey-dance, saliva incense, mule cunt so pressed with pining noises. And to this puritanical cellar, mundane anus, cool furriest little cock, tell ‘er cost, tit precedes a corpse hardly, ten times a year, harder than a peon or sob of flaps, I’ll us. that! no matter you rub it, cannot titter and sob off on a finger pointing knowledge of.

Pike to commodish time, blissed fury, us, no pees spur the pair in the pot for wine. Sister sees? to solicit lustily? cunt them! these sighs sign enough is blessed.

 

 

 

 

 

[wordmachine]

 

Is de-

sire the replicant feast

While tse-tse flies seethe over effete titans, nascent in the cold sea of war, naked illness per thee’s etheoretic purrs of terror, erisian eddies of the intentioned

Artifeces cut a slit in the film-cover

                              Ing over catachreses, an overpriced threnody threading synods of the forgotten mountains

                              Were tablets incised in ebullient echo of eve-ening, each ibid. is a machine of production irreplaceable

                              Over which the flagellants earn their names in frenzious strenity,

                  Each impossible other  

                                          In toning a touch of greasy, smeared foundation. With a kiss we render fresh the ameliorated absences day’s black back ends had threaded with ant’s ticklingly tender feet. On tenterhooks we angelically dance; god knows it was a torturous fortuity that went us here. Is abide in your allowing silences and each me ting renders a de-. Fenestrating thee’s inner-rib-bed lacunae, romance a striated caress

      Only flesh lends bone

                        Flensed in a soft ebon wind slender shells yell their eternal no

Sere ascent, a detonated air, emaciated wreck of a body easily named aeon, a callus of yous slowly accreted, debutante bier, night’s atmosphere a rennet, see? Hot ignition, it’s art’s rotten semaphore unfolded only to eyes trained to see, the leathern flaps of lids like atrophied wings folded ‘round

                        An egg of wondrous sponginess,     

                                                      Enough’s an Edda of flesh as red nerves fibrillate a surrender near emergence – knit them a hocked ecstasy, a figural chance, a genetic chord struck [sic] with a knell isolate and new, silent extremities of grace a rondo of bone-taut elbow strikes, spark-like, against space

                                                      We write to elide the aweful glare of the white no more

                        Automnemerotics; syntax a sin tax Is levy upon the strident pinball of thought, quarter token yous pay to play

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John Moore Williams comments:

[zoom in] is an alphabetic algorithm on the overdone theme of love. The numbered poems are homolinguistic re-renderings of a mixture of Louis Zukofsky's translations of Catullus and the Egyptian Book of the Dead; please consider each of these as a stand-alone, tho connected, piece.

Finally, [wordmachine] is a process of automatic writing unspooling from the opening "Is de-", and was inspired by (again) Zukofsky's Is (pronounced "eyes")and Kenji Siratori's book smart-d.

 

Bookmark and Share