Shut Up

I. 

I hope every night grade year, Mr.MacMillian the english teacher still gleefully points out
how Odysseus coated the spear he lanced the cyclops Polyphemus in with 
in sheep shit first
before he rammed it through the monster's only eye.

The moral seemed obvious to me:  shut up. 

Odysseus, who got off on going by 'no one'
gets off again by giving his name,
then gets got good by Poseidon. 

Though I know I heard Mr.MacMillan retired. 
    

III.

shut up, shut up, I am so sick of love for your talking! 
to want and want and not to have it
all this half century of of stony sleep

Besty, Harriet! 
they took Harriet from us those those evil fucks 


the extremity of grief


Oh- 
By the twain clanging issuing
from our ocean cooled engine rooms,
the sound pipe wound
vented
banging with Enola Blue's grunts of exertion
thrusting then flicking shovelfulls of the stuff
for the gay masters, when you get to know them
really ,wanting just to romp fast, 
than faster-
their happily warring and whirring turbines churning 
steam made hot in shrieking cauldrons
cursed workers in perpetuity tend 
ooze bed's annuities eons coalified 
now combusting,
to feed turning furnaces, 
that clang. 
 
Well, there's just some sounds you'll swear by. 

Here's one: 
You're horrid,
just as I am wicked.

So as one we'll smear our fangs with
lunar flow and faeces
divide an evince
our lances creamed with Vagisiled diseases 
of a reaming potency that still lingers
on bone chipped Etruscan relics awaiting just the right host to 
jump in-
psycho eye is ripped, 
plucked 
and plundered.
Run out the operculum,
past the sheep machines,
grab fat Cornwall's gagpipe all slick with
neatly nail gouged vile eye jelly, 
the branded socket fired stabbed. 


Flee jettisoned getaway rocket. 


We survived the blast.,  
Space is nearer here.
Eons make a mobius strip rocking ages
exchanging all our post script secrets.
Savage galaxies tuck round sewage
pitted with the fallen ages scoured 
on all but magic bubbles,
in whose greased wake 
our ship beswitchingly slides by, until
it's I who stomp and dominate, 
horridly,
making you smile knowingly,
a wicked grin. 
Together we make the whole world know what's right.   


- Zoë Elizabeth Clark,(1992 -
      Summer, 2025