Bull Hooker’s Sea Lion
Gut-breath, hench-rot, the stonks
Sing in those sleek fats
Of my groin, itself alive to the single
Purpose willed in
Each knobbed hump-hill of my body. Where I lie
Hard as death, stiff as driftwood,
In that church of sex
The flocking muscle
Stills its one soul, my flippered girth hauls toward
And the laked, scorching sand that are my fortune’s
Fate - desire that knows no
Peer. I have no will
But what ripples up
The drains of my urge, I conceive no conscience
But what sud gall
Is froth in the salt marshes of my liver.
And endlessly I am.
Make room in those thoughts
Of soft seas and sails
For my brunt love: pleasure is no mere option
I choose to quartz
The bristled flab that clings to my vertebrae,
No, it is a burden -
From the bone’s stomach
And thicket of nerves
That shakes beneath my fur, clawing its way out,
In each hummock
And cleft pore, each sly cuticle, my ruler.
'Bull Hooker's Sea-Lion' from The Dialectic of Mud (Auckland University Press, 2001), © Richard Reeve 2001, used by permission of the author and the publishers.
Poet’s private recording 2011.