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CAROL WATTS

Sundog


the Earth sings Mi, Fa, Mi: you may infer even from the syllables that in this our home misery and famine hold sway

Johannes Kepler, Harmonices Mundi





          I have six birds    on the go 

          trust me

          go molecular orbits   echoes of  
          disturbance & spectacular    low arc
          manifold

          each finding its level   lies in flat
          susurrations   

          till we pass out 

          celestial dust   laik
          sundogs do this   glint of child

          trust me














          I have six birds    laik
          fat

          chuck chuck membranes   rolled
          white & hexagonal   soft as


          as many feathered beds


          well hung
          medlars rot   

          under stars of
          indistinguishable hemispheres

          & waited for

          eating is good   

          fat


          mock mock
          coriolis

























          comes in on a curve


          reeded    laik
          shiny waters

                            stuck in
          finger refract

          that’s what I mean
          though if someone caught me
          up on that

          I’d be laik 

          shimmering & preened

          what 

          sundog knows its own

          fakery












          six burning babes

          on the go

          not speeding laik
          sparrows  

          hung globular &
          daring retinal burnout
          not yet clinkered

          cold flaming   slow

          blushed as
          from the mouth of


          yeah but hold on though
          what is it   what is the name


                      sucklings














          stoked up from this dark

          orbit   dense universal heart
          never where

          you left
          all these burning
                   roundelays

          irritate the life laik out of

          polar  

          trailing    that late glare
          maintaining mock
                                     gimlet severity   


          still as rosy as they bounce

          I have six

                  on the go











          hung

          over   mi fa mi
          laik I could sing

          without barking  in magnesium
          flare-ups

          sanguine sun dog
          mock mock

          ellipses

          green sunsets do
          that upper true sun  

          counterfeit
             
          smiles    laik I could sing
          terra wards

          mi fa mi















          what naturally & suitable

          melody laik

          cuckoos   shines in
          celebrity tetrachords

          swing low sweet

          sundog   too heavy
          to break with

          parheliacal constancy 

          turns planetary &
          spurious   

          I have six

          cast up

          coronal  

 














          that’s deep

          never could hold a note
          in the dark   go

          bob-bob-bobbing

          along

          red-breasted
          the closer it gets & solar

          winded

          over shoulder  shadows
          pick them out   sickening at
          attention   cold

          fusing their own
          conflagrations are dense blast
          damage   held

          in the sky & everyone
          bathing   in received light  

          wilder sunned
                                  spots











          contending

          laik the air rises to this point
          late in the
                            day but I have six birds


          cribbed & hungry with chorusing
          did you only just get this
          burning is a cold cold

          fat fate

          poor sundog   a-cold &
          chattering   chuck chuck

          burn yourself

          asterist













          trust me

          I have this happy scene
          shining on the beach
                                day for night

          vision demands elevation
          but in the shadows   lines
          of transit work

          their small striations
          botoxed out of
          crow’s feet

          scuttling in arc manifolds
          all these singular
                       unpecked observances

          hanging their faithful
          orbs laik a lantern to come home to
          mi fa mi

          skimmed from the top
          naked & hopeful 

          relentless gleam laik
          permanent  as-if   receiving













          they have such bonny faces
          cherubic   sun for eyes &
          rays
                      spoking   laik  
          retro wall clocks 

          tock tock
                         baroque

          apology for awakening finds
          itself impassive  

                            that guy
          screaming at the screen 

          I’ll kill you fuckin sundog  
                
                          don’t want
          that bile coming in to the room

          dripping

          try to sing against the tide
          this earth allows

          & burns off skywards

          I have six birds   on the go

          la la la











          mi fa mi

          the world puts it out so loud

          all those shining

          putti in these hands are
               something not material

          bugles fused & readying

          fake ceremonials

          go burning babes   go culvers
          cooing in universal
                                  rafters  do you

          trust me

          in yr circular

          breathing

          laik

          you do











          ramble & forget me

          s  undog

          the very sun seemed to be a new one

          laik  if someone caught me

          we’d be finished with
          reflected gleaming

          it is a dense dark heart   orison
          beating a slow fat rhythm

          pretends a-gilded

          circulation    fat-cheeked 
          carousel

          buoyed up on the

          mock mock

          merle












          laik you chorus

          dear life

          sundog

          & yr uncomprehending
                      larks forget

          what

          terraforms
          in song

          so many

          open mouths

          following  heat

          as-if

          galactic

           
           










          I have six birds

          on the go




          finding bright beads

          in the box


                      trust me





_______________________________________________________________________________

Carol Watts lives in London. Her poetry includes two collections with Reality Street, Occasionals (2011) and Wrack (2007), the chapbooks When blue light falls (Oystercatcher, 2008, 2010), this is red (Torque Press, 2009) and brass, running (Equipage, 2006), and the artist’s book alphabetise, now an eBook (Intercapillary Editions, 2011). Her work also involves mixed media – photography, drawing and collage. It includes Horrid Massacre: A Récit, a sequence told through shopping receipts, currently online in part at Ekleksographia. Her poetry has been anthologised in the Reality Street Book of Sonnets, Infinite Difference: Other Poetries by UK Women Poets, and her ‘Zeta Landscape’ series in The Ground Aslant: An Anthology of Radical Landscape Poetry. Sundog, a sequence of 60 poems, is due out in 2012.