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OBS! Denna textfil ingår i ett arkiv som är dedikerat att bevara svensk undergroundkultur, med målsättningen att vara så heltäckande som möjligt. Flashback kan inte garantera att innehållet är korrekt, användbart eller baserat på fakta, och är inte heller ansvariga för eventuella skador som uppstår från användning av informationen.
### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ####### ####### [ Mudfishes ] [ By Robert J Berry ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ 1. READING (for Ahila) eyelashes dip on the open book She is reading will not look up The words are printing tall tales on the intricate lace of her feather hazel head Lean long wrist bangles reach down Turn the page my page She rests then her eyes walk A scarlet moon is rising from the printed ink Her ankles bracelets shake softly This is for you to read 2. EEL Wind bowls up surf Sand glass sharp Shelter under these knuckled boles Watch cloud savaged open ______ After the storm delicate red feet pick to the ocean's musselpools Wade Down into the rubberbrown arms of sea plants Salt garments of the drowned Clutch rocks Eel stonegrey, a ribbon of gut Sees 3. WALLED GARDEN Painted pots bake on the gravel The latch of the gate is Hot to touch Come in Sticky fruit is falling On a jar of jam A wasp walks the sweet rim Black cat lavishes in sun Water gathers in one corner of the garden Stands Smells frog-green Brown veined leaves are burning Snakes hunger about the greenhouse and a cold angel Thinks On the neat box hedge 4. ASHES (for my Mother) Swing the mattock Slice the baked clay Flints, chalk The blade works through marrow of roots fashions the six foot plot Cotton seals my mother's nose mouth ... Her rings favourite dress I do not know you earth sun-brown rills onto teak over final flowers I am standing farewell Then Tonight Your lips still Your mask chalk 5. FINGERPRINTS Evening bleeds red Into the skin the pores of the sky Night's head is bent towards the slow wash of the sea Her feet moving over the gravel The Channel bills the land The tide turns a shingled hand over the Blue chin and black stubble of the sand The salt grass old thorny bushes and sudden crimson flowers of the dunes Then damp open scrub Houses built here Dark peat and kindle backed up Driftwood burning acrid spitting In all our homes The heavy animal sound of the ocean's rollers smothers us. If I press with my fingers in the dark They shall leave no mark. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #458 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #458 http://www.uxu.org/ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------