MEMOIRS OF ANTEROS PROVENCE



1/
I rub a bruise of clarity
on the misted windowpane
having overslept the frost again.
I’m writing from a high tower in an evil city –
run your damn finger down
the delicate pagoda of my spine;
nightsweats and dawn reflections
have taken their toll
on younger days when we remembered
our flesh was starstuff.



2/
Here is the church,
here is the steeple:
a bald, faceless congregation of ten
have gathered around
for tonight’s service dedicated
to this month’s deity,
anxious
to be baptised. Curious, is it not
that chrism rhymes with jism. The hymn
begins:
Manus stupare…



3/
Little silvery maps of Indochina
flake off my black sheets – maps
of all the places we could have been
together, travelling in the dark.
You don’t need to learn the local dialect.
In the past these maps have taken me to more places
than Magellan ever visited. A to Z:
accost, bugger, cunnilinguate,
deflower, ensnare & fuck,
gallivant, harrumph, irrumate,
jisimify, kink, lesbianise,
masturbate, nidify, occult,
pedicate, quelch, ream, scrote, tup, uricate,
violate, waggle, xiphoidify,
yonirise… zoogonise. (recommence)
Every lover is a soldier
and Don Quixote is exploring south.


Earlier version published in Glottis 5, 2001.

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