|
RAWHIDE
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(Scott Walker)
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|
This is how you disappear
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out between midnight,
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called up under valleys
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of torches and stars.
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Foot, knee, shaggy belly, face
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famous hindlegs,
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as one of their own
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you graze with them.
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Cro-magnon herders
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will stand in the wind,
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sweeping tails shining,
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and scaled to begin,
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SHUTTING DOWN HERE
|
SHUTTING DOWN HERE-
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-to where necks
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leave the air
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unpossesed
|
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and giant heads lock
|
constellations.
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A last grain of dust
|
lands in the darkness
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on tongues laid bare,
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and turning to chalk.
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Shutting down here.
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Freezing in red,
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bent over his ice skin,
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The insomniac gnaws
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in the On-Offs;
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he is glazed
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in the hooves
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all round.
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It is losing its shape.
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Losing its shape,
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as the heat
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in your hands
|
carve the muscle
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away.
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And he grins
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from a break
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in a backflash.
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Delivers it up
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on a break
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in a backflash.
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Motionless brands
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burn into a hipframe
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As a saviour
|
loads sightlines
|
backlit by fires,
|
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on the ridges
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of the highest
|
breeder
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
RAWHIDE
|
| Scott Walker |
