as now the beast has come
coral hymns for the dancing of the whale
tall gods for the arches of our ears
sneering grins from the house of chamelion;
gravy stains in basement graves
where ancient grapes with their paper mache hands
spoon flavours to the moon
of t-bone eyes and snails fin
fresh from the land of the chestnuts crooked teeth;
with heavy feet in pastry boots
rising with the ashes of the bees
coiling with an early spring
tight around the bosom of our tender knees
with adopted blood from the prayer book of our tall gods;
on our ageless village green
now dressed our village stocks in summer white
boards with the thumping chimes of three o\'clock
the haunted barge where once
a married field mouse strayed
as the seamstress cocked herself a disparaging eye;
as now the beast has come
with his hunters horn and his vampire snake
baking bread with the cold hands of our child
flaming the brandy of their poldarks harvest straw;
let our tall gods hang
with a prune juice stain from our trees of ivory
die inside the silence of confession
and preach no more
with a reapers voice from inside our aubergine: