Voss isst du?

		03/06/06 (edited Monday, Mar 06, 2006 19:04)
		Something’s stirring like a butterfly's wings It's clear that, again, someone's going batty Somewhere there's mud It feels so gritty under one's boots the sound drives you crazy In the damp rain falling hard taking shelter in a cowshed smelling of stale hay and piss so no one can think It's so nutty I feel like i’m almost about to scream There he says he knelt the gay writer with a name like W/white! Pa-trick luna-tic and he said he came to believe in the almighty - I’ve heard taller stories but i take it easy - and he wept like a baby cursin’ the damn rain (must have been night?!) beating on his wet face like thunder - Is that where he caught the chill that led to the Nobel? - I don't have an ace like that hid up my shirtsleeve I must have cheated at the game of life, gambling Voss, isst du, poker-face? The countdown for the usual cast off begins all over this year I wait in the days of Lent in a deserted vestry standing by the river in spate Can you hear the words of my roaring it asks I listen Hear It's the same old sound the crucified one crying out in human(e) agony

P.S. The experiments in language are intentional. A photograph of Patrick White shall duly be posted.