'F NEED BE Poem by John Leefmans

'f need be I'll steal fire from the heavens
midriff from my mother
to build crumbling words with them
or a kravana trap for the bird
language which admits defeat
forgotten jaw (in a child's sweaty hand)
but I just fear the possible magic
of priests full of power
that would overwhelm me in that case
sonst war ich doch zahnarzt geworden
to pull teeth from people's gums
and to banish falsity in dentures and bites
haughtily from their mouths.

but in the lead chamber it's sure to be acid again
and in the hollanders the production is stepped up
for moloch and monopsonist, although
I only want to make a blue word
or write a white one on white, although
it may come out as prussian red
a trumpet blows the name of (perhaps)
grudge-bearer or guncotton or wham
although it should be love
or if need be what passes for love.
there can be no question now
of taking the next hour in hand
like a taunted caiman
he cries incomes and tears
for curtailed powers:
abc and iqr pacts.

who wants to be the detonator or the cap?
who will the trembling meddling fulminate
his remaining remnant
call it dignity call it navel
call it salt biscuit, so there, sal
call it sley (sabachthani!)
call it parsleysal or
caustic nitrous acid…
who will dissolve the navel problem
in this red-smoking nitrous acid?
a child can wash this pig
and learns how from its, how many?
say eight times eighty-eight
fathers

and one, little, hair, which under the cap
of correctness and knowledge of
(his remnant is misused guano manure
drenched and melted) frizzed and kinked
thinned and offended,
makes us all into hares;
hare, hop for your master!

for the artzybashev crackers
are already cracking our grottoes and valleys
demolishing and burning up the venereal mountains
waiting for the martian spring offensive
knowing that pluto will triumph in the end
over uranos and urania, urether and catheter and cathedra
will dance on the belly and head of gaia, yes
we must have a liebig condenser ready, an
extremely liebig condenser bready (readier than bread).

with children's drawings
I've decorated my daily grave
but if need be I'll jump to the ceiling
(if the need is great enough)
to sing the dog in the moon
into his grave
orpheus at heaven's gate