Chapter One, Edited by HELMINA MILK

my father's infant tongue
I called myself
I came to be called
his tombstone

I never saw my father
and never saw my fancies
unreasonably derived
from the shape of letters
from the character and turn of the inscription

a childish sickly little stone
beside the grave

I am indebted for belief
born on the back
in the trouser-pocket of existence

¶

ours within the wound
the first most broad identity
gained on a raw evening
this place
that infant
dead and buried
that dark flat
the dykes
and mounds and gates
the low leaden wind
the bundle growing

all and beginning

¶

noise
up from the grave

keep still little throat

a grey man
soaked in water
smothered in mud
lamed by stones
cut by flints
stung by nettles
torn by briars

teeth in my throat
one more staring mouth

¶

show the place I lay
among the alder-trees
upside down and emptied

there was nothing sudden and strong

I saw a tombstone trembling
the young dog licking his lips

¶

fat cheeks

I was not strong
I couldn't shake his head
I held tighter to my crying

muttering
darkly looking
eyes looked into mine

mine looked

now look

¶

you know a greater helplessness
he tilted me again
he tilted me again
he tilted me again
I have your heart and liver
he tilted me again

I clung to him

¶

both hands upright
I dip and roll
on the top of the stone

fearful morning
you bring the lot to me
you never say a word
or make a sign

¶

a person shall fail

go from my small heart
roasted and alone

the words I speak
a secret self
a heart
a door

¶

warm in himself
comfortable and safe
creep and creep his way
and tear him open
harming the moment

now what do you say?

¶

get him the broken morning
you don't remember

you remember
the wet frog
or eel
hugged shuddering in both his arms

¶

I saw him go
among the nettles
among the brambles
bound in my young eyes

cautious grave
get a twist upon his ankle
and pull him in

legs
turn round for me
I saw him
turning my legs

shoulder the great stones
heavy in the marshes

another horizon
the sky a long red river

I seem to be standing upright
one beacon
a hope
an ugly thing

you were near
limping on towards life
coming back to me
I thought

¶

I saw the cattle lifting their gaze

I looked all round for signs