Two poems by Justin Clemens

Et en es eh er ed el et ta to ti at an as ah ar ad al ot on oh os oh or od ol it in is ih ir id il ne na no ni se sa so si he ha ho hi re ra ro ri de da do di le la lo li
Post Perec

Ohr-stained L,
Tin-lead rhos
Lot drains. He
Holds tain. Er
R dolt, shine a
Shit on dear L
Il, at shed nor
Shorn dale! It
Is not el-hard.
In hard stole
I hold Ra’s net.

Shore-nit lad,
The sail dron
E shrild not. A
Horde stain l
Ards Hilton E
Lders. A hint. O
Tinsel hoard,
Let a shin rod
Nail red shot.
Shine, Lord, at
The darn soil.

Set-hard loin
S? — art, hide! Lon
E talons hit dr
Ain, short-led
Head. Sin. Trol
L the drains, O
Dirndl-shat eon,
Date no shril
L sated rhino.
Silted rain, h
E sat on hr lid.

It alone, shrd
Or shd, oh late in
Nite’s hoard, l
It sonar-led h
And. Lore-hit, s
Lit-arse hon d
Ealt rhinos.
Hail, snore, DT
S, hard line to
Shield tan or
Shred L in Tao.

Ed shirt lano
Lin hot. Sad re
Al stoned. Hit r
Oan Trish. Del
I loan rent, sh! D
Irest halo, n.d,
Nor stile had,
So dint ear. HL
Trod hail. Ens
Stand, he roil,
Hardline sot.

Halted iron
Threads loin,
Ideal thorns.
Short denial
Sailed north
Thins ordeal,
Helots’ nadir.
Horniest lad
Loathes rind,
Latrine shod
Harlots dine.

Retina holds
A torn shield.
Oh, a tendril’s
Drone as hilt
Holds inert a
Shrine. A dolt
Lashed in rot,
A heron’s lid t
Old retains h
Ints, hoar-led,
Its herald on.

No heard silt
In shared lot
Islander hot;
A drone’s hilt,
Line-hard sot,
Slither! A nod,
Nodal. Theirs,
Near doltish,
A hornèd list.
Holster a din,
Its head lorn.

Lo, nits heard
Or deaths! Nil
Tho I slander
Or handle its
Loaned shirt.
Laden, hot sir,
Another’s lid;
Stand holier,
Retain holds.
Nadir hostel,
It shorn lead.

Shard-lion, te
Ar it, nosh-led
Shred. Not lai
R, not leash, id.
Hoard nits, le
Er at loins’ dh
Al. Set Rodin h
Ard, let shin o
Il rash tone h
Int. Sear old h
Ind, roast hel.

Head nostril,
Dearth loins,
Dilates horn.
H dons litera
L drain. Tosh! E
Lohim stand, re
Tard hen’s oil!
No hate dirls,
Ah, old strine?
Hail, rodents’
Shoal tinder!

Me n me trumpet pick up a poetaser

zappim, grindlelocks! me trumpet bellows like a Hollywood barbarian
i wanna see him spasm like a muthafucka, i wanna smell him shit himself, i wanna hear him squealing all the way down, i wanna smash the cunt like a shattered taillight, i wanna his fear and humiliation coating my tongue like a fine pâté, YEAAAAAHHHH!
So I squeeeeeeze the trigger screaming taste my taser you fucking poetaster,
and the target’s eyes light up like Catherine wheels while his body
engages itself in a spot of electro-muscular disruption — WOW!
It’s a safer use of force options alright exclaims me faithful buddy
as we poke thru the smokin’ ruins of the target’s desiccated cranium,
little bones and fried-hard cartilage crunching satisfactorily beneath
our canes, what sorta dickhead thinks this is just an instrument o’ torture?
It’s stylish for certain I respond as the sky wah-wahs like a favoured ‘70s pedal,
hallucinogeneric nostalgia for those losses we’ll never know
pulsing with the arrhythmia of ancient Chronos with a dicky heart
and a low-cholesterol diet supplemented by regular medical checkups
dominating its mid-to-upper-level-regions — Ah, being a being
in time isna just Cairos nor Aion, but rage and frustration, gah!

Justin Clemens has published several books of poetry, including The Mundiad
(Black Inc 2004), Villain (Hunter 2009) and Me 'n' me trumpet (Vagabond
2011). His most recent book is a collection of art-criticism, Minimal
Domination (Surpllus 2011).