Two Poems

Schiller’s Thirteenth Letter, Frankfurt

“a faculty of sense lacking all form,

or a faculty of reason that cannot wait for content.”

“is the most despicable”

Duenna smiling impresario

Headbordered purply eros centre

Clit split darkroom

teetering awash with

bandage clockwork schemes

of how to fly fast fuck hard

and bend the nostrils back

Unhood the hooded one,

in the fringes fallen flare

residual beacon dome approximate

I am alone, consequently a nonentity

His culture encroaching, he never becomes

and so fails to realise, he is neither

or it is hard to say. If

centuries later someone comes along

whose senses calm, innocent, and open

would club the bifurcated blue

heart flower within an inch

of mercy, spread that tenderised

gobbet over death-head’s cranium

of modern man: Now see

the lip I feel at blindly, touch

the hole the darkness makes,

move upon its formless thrust,

quench the quim that never rains.

8:17

Even at 8:17 the clock horizontal in the parity of wattles yonder the sweat produces partly no end and declines to the rising mirror lantern extended atop a fence like some caged moon (the flowering of a high) interbled with gargoyle, erogenous flies. The hornet enters the fig still green. And the unselected U-boat storms aboard my putty bulge and touches me solvent. Hot surfaces spark. Do not. Do not piece. Do not expose to soundworn heart sculptures. Precedent forgive me. I am blind. Some other horse. A sack, a stone in the sack. A papsmear whose pigeon eye Britishly coos, “Abuse me already, I’m fit for monkeying.” He rephrases, spells, “Dormant catastrophe.” The letterbox hangs loose and afraid some hideous memory yet to happen will.

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Shaun Pieter Clamp is a writer and editor living in the UK. He graduated from Rhodes University with a BA in English, Philosophy and Law, and a BA(Hons) in Philosophy, for which he received the DCS Oosthuizen Prize. His writing is published in Cleaver, Hobart, Agbowó, La Piccioletta Barca, JAKE, and elsewhere.