Waking JESUS sudden riding a scream like a
train braking metal on metal on
metal teeth receiving signals from a dying star sparking
off involuntarily in terror in all directions in the
abstract incognito in my
maidenform bra in an expanding universe in a where’s
my syntax thrashing
loose like a grab that like a
look out like a
live wire in a hurricane until
until I finally tie it down:
it is a pig scream
a pig scream from the farm across the road
that tears this throat of noise into the otherwise anonymous dark,
a noise not oink or grunt
but a passage blasted through constricted pipes, perhaps
a preview of the pig’s last noise.
Gathering again toward sleep I sense
earth’s claim on the pig.
Pig grew, polyped out on the earth like a boil
and broke away.
But earth
heals all flesh back beginning with her pig,
filling his throat with silt and sending
subtle fingers for him like the meshing fibres in a wound
like roots
like grass growing on a grave like a snooze
in the sun like fur-lined boots that seize
the feet like his nostalgie de la boue like
having another glass of booze like a necktie like a
velvet noose like a nurse
like sleep.