About…

The poem is deliberately ambiguous as its written to be read at the Goat St Albans and see what the audience [if any] makes of it .

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Book 301 is intended to be a collection of poems by Mike Burr for 2010 with no thematic precept.

Ode to a girl

when she moves
she moves like liquid
her hair swings dark across the windows sullen rays
and sashays with her mobile fluid hips
a movement turned to laughter for this is
the blithe lithe music of pleasure
and this is art and this is sex
intense direct
cut into the granite of the day and walls
its hollow reverberating hiss and moan and piquant squeal
blew upon the cups and cusps of sound
circulating round the oak of furniture
and enfolded then in the softness of loves fabric
i watch her lips and the faint pulse of blood among
thin lines carnation red that run their course
and her wet hesitant breath curling lank in the dank mists of air
who are you breath - what is your substance ??
what do you become and where is your deep soul hiding ??
her face transcends youth
and the exaggeration of its truth
when age descends like the arms of evening trees
that touch us with the cuts and creases of age
scratched and seethed and lined - oak barked
yet so it has barely touched upon her glorious beauty
for as in all things structure is beauty
and without structure there is no coherence no substance
she caught my thoughts and wondering
she searches deep within me
dark lanes in shades of blue are the many trials
prevailed upon the spirit of a man such as myself
for where is vanity and prurience if not in love
and where are their opposites
if not in that same dark landscape wandering
i watch her hips caress the glass of last light fading
fading behind the dusts of windows paned
she is regressing into mist and will sweep solemnly slowly
out of the open quadrature of sash
receding back into the night black
back unto the void
where she inhabits some creature space
deep beyond the many worlds of reality
i know her not except that she is my lover
until no truth exists at all
fabulous solvent of death full flowered and feminine
what are you offering
when next your jasmine song flies in through the window
from your musky garden
or the colours of the iris play with their thoughtful harmonies
or belladonna strikes the clang note on her bell

Sources…

it started with a few ideas from the lp Bidu Sayao the text being in french with a small f

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The life of Bidu Sayao