Once Below A Time

I Once below a time, When my pinned-around-the-spirit Cut-to-measure flesh bit, Suit for a serial sum On the first of each hardship, My paid-for slaved-for own too late In love torn breeches and blistered jacket On the snapping rims of the ashpit, In grottoes I worked with birds, Spiked with a mastiff collar, Tasselled in cellar and snipping shop Or decked on a cloud swallower, Then swift from a bursting sea with bottlecork boats And out-of-perspective sailors, In common clay clothes disguised as scales, As a he-god's paddling water skirts, I astounded the sitting tailors, I set back the clock faced tailors, Then, bushily swanked in bear wig and tails, Hopping hot leaved and feathered From the kangaroo foot of the earth, From the chill, silent centre Trailing the frost bitten cloth, Up through the lubber crust of Wales I rocketed to astonish The flashing needle rock of squatters, The criers of Shabby and Shorten, The famous stitch droppers. II My silly suit, hardly yet suffered for, Around some coffin carrying Birdman or told ghost I hung. And the owl hood, the heel hider, Claw fold and hole for the rotten Head, deceived, I believed, my maker, The cloud perched tailors' master with nerves for cotton. On the old seas from stories, thrashing my wings, Combing with antlers, Columbus on fire, I was pierced by the idol tailor's eyes, Glared through shark mask and navigating head, Cold Nansen's beak on a boat full of gongs, To the boy of common thread, The bright pretender, the ridiculous sea dandy With dry flesh and earth for adorning and bed. It was sweet to drown in the readymade handy water With my cherry capped dangler green as seaweed Summoning a child's voice from a webfoot stone, Never never oh never to regret the bugle I wore On my cleaving arm as I blasted in a wave. Now shown and mostly bare I would lie down, Lie down, lie down and live As quiet as a bone.