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DCXLIV (i.m. J.H. Prynne +22.4.26)
how much wld be risible, of the green head-turning
fulgence, wombplucked as a befallen light, rages
in dentata. slow by the crabbed ovum where it
splits, now a firedrill, now an unrepaired faucet
to bang on wall so as to waken the dead, in time,
who else bloods her underground’s dark vestige?
surplus labour things the past, commodious though
overt, bearer’s bonds whiplash this bed our father
bored us in, borne-out & singular, lurched, the very
spit, the very still last leg cocked of bone china.
ease & psalm they have him when least portioned,
choice unmade, unreadied, the plant voiding the pot.
its stare wastes away into a scabby hedge of piled
equity. positioned to scant advantage, rutted, run
to ground, somnambulant, a blockade to equipment’s
burden. pelt under, her stone lumbago, shed tilted
windwards, as mitochondriac AIs nip its bud for
billycans of Balkan brimstone, treacle, balderdash.
neither a kith nor kin seller, not a meningitis.
tread as yr foot intends, loamed & befuddled over
high ground, a Laozi cardsharper, a softly played
dead hand’s touch. mutually assurance scolds, weird.
today aftermaths ply blow-by-blow the sentimental
blackguard, chips cashed, temper erratic, still.
Louis Armand’s latest poetry collection is INFANTILISMS (Puncher & Wattmann). www.louis-armand.com.
Copyright © 2026 by Louis Armand, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.
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