Pest ...the rats nest and the dogs rest you,
with your boots worn ledgered and tight.
Ankle sawn, ripped down to the bud
of a hare's view, of hounds in their night mare.
Hungers drugged in pot'skin boiling soothing stew...
We clear the woods...the fields are nought haugh
the draining ditches are clean and free
out from the noon and peacocks 'sun
(in from the cunt of the moon, a whole white calf
.. half life/death, a quarter of nail light
in hungover views)
the frail spring sun has pale comparison
in apple green
we cling to the hedges and cliffs
may-friend renew their roofs in paw ellubiance of moss
on a black foxes back.
We have no heather for sport.
nor long leather arms
or foresight when it is cold.