Saturday, 5 September 2009

Three Poems by Matt Nunn

Classical music is well like for spazzy retards.

Wot I wrote when I wuz asked in accusing
By the parrot on the teachers’ hunch
About wot I reckoned to the mong music
Lilting like from a weaving of the echo of the stars
From out the rackety old gob of the record player –

“Beethoven is a bender”,

Made His Majesty Sir ye olde right venerable tosspot,
The headmaster of our school
“Our Lady with her head down the toilet”
Creak tweedily with so much well furious
That his guide dog plopped a pup straight
Out of his hole in fright,
As he telled me in a voice stained by Sapphoism and chamber music
That I was the perennial puke beneath the sawdust on the hall floor.

But it ent my fault
The angelic choir that breathes the theology of beauty
Inside my bonce has been punched out
By the brutality of surviving,

Cuz it just dunt pay to let on,

Though I know the perfect craft of the flight
Of the word lepidopterist
And that music is the joy of the kiss of the eternal sunrise,

Cuz at this school on the cusp of combustion
Of farting itself silly with the death stench of our horizons

It is more well cleverer to be stooped.

With Myrtle walking through a headfuck as she twangs.

Last eve as you crept between
the contours of my dreams
humming expectantly with
the first sugar-rush la-la’s
of a love song
and laid me out delirious
with a slobbering lovesome bomb,
you cut me with the blunt of your sharp knife

and made what remains of the sun
blush with the blood of your beginning

and my obliviously hidden point painful and obvious.

mogwai music

heaven is bound and heavy with bruised gospel light
enlivening dereliction by symphonic waves
of crashing youth generating genius electricity
flowing through x-rays back catalogues
inspiring jesus off searching for the right ripple
to turn on by sipping jagged metallic soul from a
soup bowl of a million snuffed out industrial suns


Matt Nunn's third collection of poetry, Sounds in the Grass, is forthcoming from Nine Arches Press, and a short story collection is also in the pipeline. He lives and breathes Birmingham.

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