143

There was music from outside
In the back office of Ahmad's
That played across the walls
And into the crashed forms
Of the sidetable and the lamp
The body had displaced and
Made a pose of their place
In the broken section of it,
Of the demolished corner of
The composed, pristine room.
The music was 50s arabesque
Jazz; choric, acid, softhowling.
It sunk into the stopped heart
Of Vincent Arthur Carra as
A fullformed code into the
Disengaged command of an
Uncoupled old machineworks.
Cables fallen slack in heaps.
Cord and chain and fuel
Neutered and flaccid, fallen
Totally from the mouth and
From the gaping exitwound
And from the dark, spreading
Stomachhole. A system only
Visible in its dysfunction.
His grey eyes moved as in the
Collapsing light of the music.

142

And he was looking
Into the farfuelled chambers
Of the outer dark,

*

Thinking of the force
And the referent, and of
Parallax, holding it

*

All a miniature
Under thought, subject to his
Will, to rotation,

*

When he thought: a man
Who sees the stars 'over him'
Is yet a function.

141

Sal placed the receiver back in
Its cradle and he went over to
The cabinet behind the desk
And removed from it a sleek,
Steel barrel tommygun with a
Moulded mahogany stock and
He held it in the crook of his
Arm and left the room. Passing
Through the hallway he could
See that the shop was empty
But that behind the counter
Ahmad was crouched and he
Reached down and hauled him
Up and propped him on the
Counteredge and held his body
There with the barrel beneath
Ahmad's lower ribs. He did not
Speak. Ahmad was spluttering—
Wha-wha-, Sal comon comon,
D-d-d—You know what I am
Gonna do Ahmad if you don't
Shut the fuck up your fucking
Body and soul are going be
Pried apart by force. Going to
To open your ribcage and feed
You your own fucking heart,
You understand? He withdrew
The barrel and as Ahmad fell
Swung the stock up to crack at
His jaw. He gave him the heel
On the floor, a few times, and
Then leaned in and cradled his
Trembling face in one sallow
Hand. I am going to fuck you,
You little mamaluke. Fuck you.
Now tell me who your friend is.
C-c-cieco. Cieco. Sal comon—
Fuckin-A. You kick up to Reuben
From now on. If I see you again,
I'm not going to see you again—
Gabisci? He straightened, spat.
Ahmad waited until his footfall
Had ceased. He began gasping.

140

There was first a seed,
Opened ground, a blanched hollow.
High in the chambers

*

Of the air, soft rain.
A wombcase of clay. Hallowed
In earth, it germinates.

*

The soul's-shape of it
Tumbled from the earth like fire,
Violet, orange.

*

Now wind saws through it,
Dessicate organ. Chassis.
Catastrophe—speak.

139

To the farthest star.
The all-envelope expands,
Proliferate. Flux.

*

Ash-pink, indigo,
Vermillion, bloodwhite, plasma
Multifoliate,

*

Tissues of the old
Softflower, germinating of
Nothing, but itself.

*

The old light—let be.
Necessity, found this slow
Bright mechanism.

138

This is my body—
Of galaxies made as ours
Is of molecules—

*

Sprawled over the dark,
A sleeping arm, nebulae
Flowering in its span.

*

And the head-case, where
Our origins lie dormant;
Empty chrysalis.

*

Fluor. This my blood—
Our substance, colour that blooms
Behind fallen eyes.

137

That which we call God
We must reckon; we must now
Transubstantiate.

*

Omnipresent: in
Matter to the farthest, and
In antimatter.

*

Omnipotent: in
The course of all particles,
Equivalent force.

*

Potent in mass, in
Energy present. So; the
Universe is God.

136

A grey light figures
The outline of two lovers.
The morning is come.

*

They sleep yet, restive,
Their breath shallow, mouths open,
Enclosed in their arms,

*

As of one substance :
The fixity of the light
Is violent, grey.

*

Over the bed stands old
Hephæstus—smokeblack, silent—
Wielding his blowtorch.