AnnMarie Eldon

The Labour Party Conference,
Brighton, September 2004,
remotely viewed

It is a matter of 'who is in the hall'
pro-hunt lobbyists outnumber
anti-war demonstrators, 1
Trotskyite, a few well scripted, coded
apologies with enough leeway to rest laurels

On the News two female Italian hostages
are suddenly, apparently, released
changing from veiled madonnas
to scrubbed up super models
beside a jeep in a desert
backdrop

In apathy I rent The Passion on DVD
and am left with the knowledge
that Jesus designed a table
way ahead of its time

and the Virgin's immortal lines
"It'll Never Catch On"
as Christ does a
sitting motion
in thin air              but at least I know

Gibson, Blair and the BBC fake. As
for the chemical composition
of 'cover-up'
I'm not so
sure

hands fingers skin eyes
an impossible calculus
once the make-up
artistes arrive

conditions for registering the visibility of buried remains

tonneight (five) metastates
a black jerusalem temple stone
a forgery
entire countries
praying one man who pleads
through his handkerchief
a headless boy
's body tipofa child ritual sacrifice racket
me as closet and lies who I don't know
I am talking to anymore
fixer a faked patina
inscription a drilled hope
hidden cameras track working-girls
none can open
our eyes: there is a white between terrorism    freedom not hands
tied

posi-shuns

1
I am faking the Cimabue cheek of me
cheek of me the reddy rouge real
not real me; how developed how
already-sophisticated she
when (was) discovered:    uncovered
So?
I am turning the other
back to its
plastered
over

2
Washington is on saying
Poitier         said
you're good

below a forensicked
thoroughfare threatens
unfair rumbles deathens to
tumble you joined by Naomi!
legs aglisten agog not really we
supposed to be impressed by Mandela, inevitably
switch

off

3
and hence to the month
and therefore a cold sudden snap turn NE.erly
dry
and then it'll go wet
and chestnuts the only polish'ds
in the raggedy sycamore/plane/maple mildew snot piles yearns
an entire universe to get through
the post-traumatic truths: your
cock a snivlld piddle
which once moved
earth

a mongrel will do (any mongrel) or a

pedigree: the seemingly endless choice

and/or the distinction makes no difference




first you must ensure you get a dog

any dog will do own it borrow it beg

it steal it capture it but get one make

sure it has a collar and a leash and take

it with you on a car journey get a friend

to drive you so that you can sit

in the back

with the dog it must not know where you

are taking it perhaps you will not know where you

are taking it but take it somewhere out in the countryside

in bright daylight make sure you hold it tight

in the back of the car so that it follows

                                your every move

when you think you have discovered the right place

get the car to stop pull over and take the dog out

walk a little way from the car and stop

                                                 stop

you and the dog in the carbonmonoxided dried

prefantasized Wild Flower Collection scattered

wayside and hold the dog firmly by its collar

feel its legs tremble its body fat thin muscular

or not it doesn't matter but feel its body shake

there's empathy and sympathy but don't allow

yourself any half-baked measures get the dog's fear

running through you squat

down in the lay-bye and keep hold of its collar let-

ing its leash dangle in the feathery grass detritus

like an unfinished sentence

talk to the dog tell it your life's history

your desires especially your desires and be as explicit

as you can make it the keeper of your worst secret

and when and only when you have taken up the slack

of its merest nascent vulnerability and just at

the very moment it begins to trust you don't balk

accuse it of its own sentimental hostility and making sure you

                                                                      are level 

                                                    with its pleading

                                    watery eyes

then and only then might you realise

what it's like not to be

able to talk

back

lukewarming the absence of an erectus other

daily utensils impartial necessary ablutions
the make'n'mendabilty essentials
a bimanous capability thwarted
by patience's limit

seemingly neuropathological forks cups
no particular predominance other than that
felt and that in bladder evidence water pass-
ing deposited an alien burn however back

to menial fingers washed of bacteriological
threat mucous less viscous therefore coming
up to ovulation again hence once evening permits
expect a mandalaical frenzy. I

have no goat-equivalent
lust spraints its musthifying silence
throughout my placentalism yet
cushion order cover textile shade coordination

a street congeniality nest concealment
equivalent litter dependency
embarrassing await for him addiction
a tertiary altriciality. I

have not escaped predation
not applied survival tactics neither sheep nor oxen
tithe salt in meals but of course (cooking) oil
incense against the smell of dogs a daily duty doing their hair

suck should suspend
judgement be submissive but money
drains and only only what I'm able
to wet or dry may be my sense-perceptible gift

it is not a real sacrifice until a change
has been effected in the visible                           ...I
look out windows' transparent justifications
no revelation a uterine pain mouths gape

but that surely is agape and theological? no vertical
eschatology here but surfaces ionise dust
no fiduciary relationship molecules a crust
of discharge where his remains made me more acidic than

usual his life his own now. I sleep with no one night on night
the unpredictable difference offered by the dailies
their slaughter photographic
their celerity     digital

with what temerity shall he excogitate upon
his precious
Trinity? Things
come as ones or twos and few extras

no absolute certainty
except a lawn to mow no sperm grew
and underwear to launder terror stalks
but no one died from alone

love is a tegumental routine
offspring fed I lock the door
above its fanlight no dove
no polemics to take flight into

but a desert of unrentable webs
inside dread
                     outside tomorrow
but that only as Presentable

Saturday 

seized by Saturday

I hacked the secret of water
(she hacked the secret of water)
there is no small fall - fall
(there is no small fall just fall)
not like the mucous plug sudden
(did you see it? what did
it look like? was it bloody?)
no, like leftover soap
yes, bloody
factoid: oxytocin is what's responsible for breast-
milk production
(she saw his eyes his brief shame)
but wait a minute, years later, not the father
of my (her) children but a lover with a hidden
(secret)
a full itch a terrible full
(a fullness like a balloon?)
the moon was still up at 11 this morning
(was she to water the garden?)
naked children massacred on my every screen
(on every bloody place you look)
it'll be a dry day although the sweet peas are mildewed
and my anemone has gone unfostered
(she has been covering up for him for 6
years now, more if you count her infatuation)
lactation
(nurturing)
micturition
(desire)
lists carpet sew tags garlic bread walk dogs do something
sensible with the sad
with the sad
the sad
("these people don't know me quite apart from which
sweetheart what I'm trying to do there is really none
of your business")
my sister says there's no such word in Russian
as negotiation and tells me again how it took 5
adaptors to plug her iron into the one wall
socket inherMoscow apartment
(he had to keep a night guard on the van outside)
always a have to hacked that too that too and that too
I could not find one diagnostic
for the Machiavellian Personality Type
but
empathy plagarising lying to keep up self-image lying
to further self promotion
and 'Let Down'
1. milk reflex
2. he's a well you know
arms – I... those tootwo
holding and killing

oh and it simply occurs
no warning
drropp
(they had no warning)

Slip of the Solstice

Hard: have I let up all my angels;
wound them against their own, disowned, cold steel.
War they gather under wings like dumbbells.
Peaceless, they mither refugees for one meal’s
unwarmth. With them, I queue. No! No grace
said for you. You who has promised freely
a God of intentionality.
You, cry-lover, who has frothed my soul space,
are substitute tensility.
Waverers trespass me.
This is a human race.
I bear sentiment, (save face), misplace responsibility.
Yes, I’ve set ‘em aquiver, these aimless, pay-less, tree-tip
                                                                                              dryads.
Watch night-eve to unbalance
                                                         trip –