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after Derek Jarman
my gawd, John Dee what do you see
lovers, friends, friends of friends & the aristo,
the piss factory sky coming to an end ooh, the milieu
at the Rainbow the banshee kids clash
& unharness, punk-in-punk-drag, commodified blackout—
you water plastic petunias with a self-obliterating grin.
the spring of ’77 you put a safety pin through heaven,
pink, Fra Angelico drapery folds over us like an exorcism
a roman à clef of luxurious exhaustion
wherefrom we invent the names as we go along
Boudica Amyl Jordan & Pamela
your t-shirt says only anarchists are pretty,
your trident rules the cabbages & kings.
my gawd, John Dee what do you see
the glamor of backwardness, makeup as art history
the realm is overgrown with Dadaist typography
unrelieved mourning, gaps in the blankness,
drit drit drit kettles on like wasted virility.
goose-stepping the edgelands like a ballerina around a bonfire
low tide doesn’t explain anything away,
we read sonnets on the beach at San Sebastián
chests pastured in rococo arrows.
Twitter: @damon_hubbs
