..................................................................................................
The Poetry Of...
David McLean................................................
for Trakl
what wanders through the mourning
dawn they see in you
is the holy lycanthrope,
with shreds of meat
hanging from his lonely
bones and caught
between his teeth.
and sister spirit resigned
to the pyre
we call a life,
animating the dead flesh
time shall surrender
to your questing armies
of toads and rats
that storm
through our meaty pieces,
like troopers storming through
the peace that covers
God's stinking battlefield
where the soldiers stand
still, long-gone to ground
all dead and healthy
ghosts, corpses standing
erect and mad in their tombs,
bending down before the ends
of man, nothing
and the love
we nevertheless carry
like a bad debt
within us, as if we woke
from all your death's drugs,
the feral libido's economy of
know-how, still up to no good,
for good
of spirit
spirit is the ghoul
that bites the meat
alive as he chews it
a while
the canines of
a reflective god
and world just the light
of his saliva
digesting time
death's saviour
the carrion he eats
is his seed
Ruah
words burn rueful
Ruah as i am rapt to the flame
of nothing, the gross ghost
is the fire behind Being
that is the best Black sun
and the World we burn
in, and it is Spirit the speck
the Spook is the ash in the tray
today God stubbed us in
living in sin
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