Basil Bunting

You idiot! What makes you think decay will
never stink from your skin? Your warts sicken
typists, girls in the tube avoid you. Must they
also stop their ears to your tomcat
wailing, a promise your body cannot keep?

A lame stag, limping after the hinds, with tines
shivered by impact and scarred neck — but
look! Spittle fills his mouth, overflows,
snuffing their sweet scent. His feet lift lightly
with mere memory of gentler seasons. Lungs
full of the drug, antlers take back, he
halts the herd, his voice filled with
custom of combat and unslaked lust.

Did the girl shrink from David? Did she hug his
ribs, death shaking them, and milk dry
the slack teat from which Judah had sucked life?

spoken =Chris Daniels