Iain Britton
Iain Britton’s poetry is published widely in Australia and New Zealand, but his work is also available in many UK and US magazines. Oystercatcher Press published his third poetry collection in 2009; Kilmog Press, his fourth in 2010. The Red Ceilings Press published an ebook in 2011. Forthcoming collections are with Lapwing Publications and a small collection with Argotist Ebooks.
the psychology of a river
this is only an earshot visual
of a story
of blue cords of flesh
twisting through rapids
water babies being throttled / as if abandoned
a black-eyed Madonna
prays for a mosaic sign of peace
promotes miracles
by rubbishing her mortal coil /
for a price
she takes off her clothes
and like a keen carnivore
I’m supposed to be impressed
roll over Shostakovich
I wish you were here
roll over homo erectus / homo sapien
homo anydamnthing
the hunt is on
is ever elusive /
fleeing
the river starts its plunge
by cavorting with girls
washing their bodies
by hyperventilating about them
sucking their prattle into swirls of foam
the river
pulls at substances
that drag down each day
that clog arterial reflections
on glazed horizons –
couples
in their idolatry
hump against trees
skim flat stones
tread water
the talk is about multiple progressions
of one flash flood after another / one tumult
one invasive
white-wash of inherited gruel
it’s all good / all okay / says the talk
around this colonic sluicing out
of a worm’s full gut
I drown messages
as they come
depending on mood-swings
the quick
and
the slow
some are gabbled
some bloody too long –
I push them under
until the gasping is all done
until the
dosing up on daylight
becomes too much
the toxic beverage
of hallowed be thy name
begins to kick in
the river is the extroverted pretender
of this team / the builder of excursions
it fends off the claws of blackberry
reels
under a sun
firing melanomic slugs
it’s about running with the team
keeping up
spanking arses
and not looking back
at the pillars of salt
of particular people I know
already crumbling
the river
convulses at the idea
of sharing its stench its evolution of fake shamans fake prophets
failed water diviners decomposing amongst rocks
best scenario ever
and Dmitri
I wish you were here
to witness this virgin
squeezing painfully
from her grave