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One of the peoms
The Dead Zoo, Dublin
for John Peel
1
In the dead zoo we walk an afternoon
touching the giraffe with a sutured stomach
and the bull seal with a broken ear.
The gazelles too are thinking
about the jungle kings, sun-kissed and light-bleached
making a performance of their anger.
All hips and grimaces the hyenas
pass silent commentary on our clothes.
And I remember finding the bat in daylight
on the schoolyard wall, its cape and hooks
trembling, broken by the colourwash of light,
it hated being stroked.
We had a bat funeral, a ceremony that summer
which followed other rituals:
wreath laying for road kill, bouquets for robins
and elegies for tame jackdaws.
Strange to find oneself here with these exhibitionists
teasing us that they are alive still.
2
Music is a skin,
notes at the tips of my fingers
fingertips at the edge of my songs.
After the elegies and the websites
after the obituaries and the radio stories
after the musicians and the brouhaha
there was nothing left but teenage kicks.
3
So I take you to the dead zoo
your own private Gethsemane
to curate the animals into action
4
I will use your words against mine with mine and on mine,
I will play all your records at the same time
the unreleased singles and demos
causing cacophony on the dance floors.
Rhythm is a bright confusion
I will say that music is homesickness
And you can give me your unheimlich
as an elegy of recognition.
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