deepundergroundpoetry.com
My little Cuckoo.
A little cuckoo, I broke its wing
And my finest friend trod on the other
And we cackled, with gusto, with honour
Like we were gurgling
Regurgitating
Thick, maltreated bags of skin like
Holey gags; we revelled in
Our slaying of
Leviathan.
This little bitch played with our nerves;
She ripped them from the back of our necks
And hands and feet
And played us on the concrete stage
With nimble, lithe slicing actions
Crying actions
Purging actions.
She made us out to be Beelzebub
And Lucifer.
But she is not the queen of flies, the duchess
With the stinking larvae dwelling
Deep between her veins and I
Am not that vain to damn
My holy brothering;
I am a healer.
A little cuckoo mimicked our song
And lodged expiry into our nest
Tiny, diseased, immaculate eggs that poisoned
Us, We hallucinated on the septic yolk,
You made our woe look like a
Joke;
So now we will snap off your wings
And force a twig between your
Beak.
And my finest friend trod on the other
And we cackled, with gusto, with honour
Like we were gurgling
Regurgitating
Thick, maltreated bags of skin like
Holey gags; we revelled in
Our slaying of
Leviathan.
This little bitch played with our nerves;
She ripped them from the back of our necks
And hands and feet
And played us on the concrete stage
With nimble, lithe slicing actions
Crying actions
Purging actions.
She made us out to be Beelzebub
And Lucifer.
But she is not the queen of flies, the duchess
With the stinking larvae dwelling
Deep between her veins and I
Am not that vain to damn
My holy brothering;
I am a healer.
A little cuckoo mimicked our song
And lodged expiry into our nest
Tiny, diseased, immaculate eggs that poisoned
Us, We hallucinated on the septic yolk,
You made our woe look like a
Joke;
So now we will snap off your wings
And force a twig between your
Beak.
Published 13th May 2010
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Anonymous
14th May 2010 00:53am
An alluringly complex and subtle, seductive verse, filled with brutal imagery and classical references, just like all your work. Through each poem you express not merely some simple emotion, such as despair or tenderness, but something much deeper, more riddle-like and strange, evocative but mysterious. The image of the narrator and his companion dancing on the stage at Leviathan, the puppeteer’s whim, is frankly delicious. But darkly, very darkly so.
