Sport 24: Summer 2000
Kate Camp
Kate Camp
Water of the sweet life
We can lie suckered against
each other so when I move
I peel my skin off you, hear
it pull away. I can hold
part of you in the dark and
not be sure what part it is:
we are a confusion of
limbs like a pride of lions
only lazier and more
golden. I can hear and make
sounds with no words can
venture into your mouth can
do all this but when I climb
off the boat and on the sea
green lino go my daring
feet tippy toeing to the
toilet I piss with perfect
delicacy behind closed
doors decanting against the side
of the bowl as if I were
that unctuous Indian
waiter pouring your Kingfisher
never spilling a drop.
The spine gives up its saddest stories
I pay a man to manipulate me.
He lays out a sheet of clean tissue
cradles my head and says
from behind a Swiss moustache
have you had accidents before?
Oh yes, I want to say,
I am the very devil for injury
I disguise myself
as a white line and live on the road.
I do not say this, I lie
prone in a curtain room
the William Tell overture
plays at quiet volume
his chest is warm on my back
my head is heavy in his hands
there are tiny clicks happening inside me
that even he doesn't know about:
the secret language of the spine.
All the keys in the world
Common law says
ownership extends
to the centre of the earth
and to the stars.
All things have their ends.
A battery dies
and all the keys in the world
won't turn that engine over.