The Arctic Waltz

News flits from rock to ravine,
Sandblasts bible belts, ruins Roman haircuts,
Blunts steely scissors, rusts
Swiss army knives

Tits and guns, kicks and flames, pianos to tune,
All dumped in pools.

Cushions scatter as she, logistics,
Throws me backwards
And batters me with love and letters.

Falling rising luck of the leaves,
Dig up salsa, butter my bread, shoot
No-one in Maine, Middelburg and Venlo,
Pacific capoeira in slow mo.
New splits, toes aligned, dance krump, nights in Babylon, wine.

I was joking when I said
I’d cap my teeth and smack my lips to Lindy Hop
So I’ll wear a mask and squeeze a plaster orange between
My bony hips,
Whirl the clocks, hammer the meringue
At dawn.

And I’ll sculpt a giant pepsi can, spend
My days scamming scams,
Listening to the Dan, cook
Up fictions while the soul expands
And analogue flower machinists weep
Over Grandpa Munsters.

Work it out leave it out, Cezanne’s Mountain stands
Which he painted again and again
And again.

Let us give birth to the surface and all its depths.