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Thursday 22 May 2014

Sean Moreland

The mis sing

From the tumourlike membrance of a tenuous re:
solve come tiny, edged-red tears, gilt gangrenous.

Sad, rainswept fixities slip, drizzle-sloffd
drown contracted sinuses. Uvula snaps at slow

swallows like a dangledamp mantis; bit dreams
of birdsong bleed deep into chipt chinabowl belly.

Sounds like a ringtone, soul-corrosive, uncoil, curd-
ling innerear. Some sly kin of naked pine’s pins

snuck in tonite & trickt these rabbitfeet into a heartsnare
to strangle w/ softspoken, unsought oughts and fond

condemnations – no prophylaxis against grief-pregnant
absence’s urgent, blind invasions. Something about the

evening’s lovely snarl must’ve hit the missing button,
so Saturday rises from the bath, Venus wrapped in

bruise of Monday’s Pluto-blue. Moonlite  rattles
glass like a wrackt cough; sudden burn w/ red

dish of revery welters. Tongue writhes, phantom
feeling of a name I’ll never be safe to say again.

 Fingers falter over the keys, killed insect clatter of
closed doors, indepth recessed. Broken keys to rooms

in hulderhouses torn down tender years ago –
doors to dead places no one living can let go.

A sharp salt blurt of blindsight, heartstirring
storylines scratch the sky, octoberbare branches

chokevines that, writhing, climb my name. Arid clime of vain
ache for peachsweet  shoulders’ scent,  adrift in empty headspace.

Time shudders as her missing limbs turn tourniquet,
until tonight begs morning to help her to forget.

inertia, his initials:
scritches not just
pen t, chatter not just

his teeth as he walks beside
             a ministry of crows, a shepherding of flies
            he turns it, this, his
            to the stones.

Unmoved by stolen
meat, their earthen thirst remains
but this body bucks

and seeps, and gets all
swole, and won't stay 

down in the hole scrabbled
from sod and gravel.

this is his theatre, see:

watch the winter kiss

make each subject
less and somehow
more, each a vivid

He stands close by, hood-eyed
scribing soft-corps spawn

chewing someone else's
gums with these dawn-clean teeth.

Seek and slam

Dullgray aft’s rough drag with the stark
wake of the goner score, sores of the shaken
stir the streets aching to blacken the package.

Redeye keyed-out pack of dirty pilgrim
sweaters, the sniffling sneakered hunt
snouts out closed faces and cold concrete

until a happy alley spreads treasures
for their play-coloured tenders. Quick
now kids: brassy blues do the corner

the cluster ducks, hastings skirts, flock
back to a grimy public head. Unfazed by
blue lights, diviners of deep venation

they prep with quick breaths, with tremulous
brevity, tapping powder from plastic shells, crouch
of humid  forms exuding need, acrid anticipation.

Flint-fleck and rocketred glare. Amped  Bics
and arcing Zippos. Frothing cook-song of
familial spoons, steel’s black badge

convex bellies small, stainless pregnancies
the kids clutch maternally - syncopated
orchestra of grunts and small seeking stabs

flagging bulbous bloodflowers. Horses surge
the gates, heavy heartfalls and itch-hot crescendos
as they play,  violinists of the breaking veins.

Sean Moreland writes poetry, short fiction and scholarly non-fiction. He is founder and a fiction editor of Postscripts to Darkness (PstD), a serial anthology of weird fiction and art. 

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