HIS BURIAL
There I hung between earth and heaven,
lifting, floating in the sullen mood,
hidden in a maze and dizzy wombing,
poked and wary, toom and gidden,
under the wind where the weave is,
so slim a lie down under slum,
so soft a wriggle, a little welter
of whipple and heave, a little whelm,
flimsy in a film of fine foam
rocking, soft rolling, so blissfully sleeping,
dreaming the doom and whying the when
in winkle curl, in whelken screw!
before the gristle, before the frame is,
freighting and wriggling in the swoom
of water - seep and slimy whirling
that wash and dree their wanion tide:
where I felt the stir between wench & wink,
when in the dark flood an eye opened
and red lips lifted and a mouth gupped
and teeth gleamed in the floory mere:
where I felt the sweve between stream & strumpet
where lulled the wildness of thwarted hunger,
in lovely sweetness between wist and weeping
that sighed and sucked their wash of sleep:
where I felt the leap of want and wanton
that took to madness in the tail,
that thrust and stung and stirred the mudlift
and filled the mouth with mick and dung:
where I, the bagget, fleamed the wombworld,
fishing the flow of needy flesh,
while wistfully wrapped my poor wraith wept
through-wind-laced at the door, waiting!
