lloyd robson


xx / xy (a response to the 2004 artes mundi exhibition)

swelling the edge between water & flesh
lips red & ready, foamystroke steady
open orifice, cream crevice
where’s the soap?
yes. doesn’t it.
under her fur cossack hood she observes, excited, muscular pulsing
the one-legged armour-plated water-proof & pleat-skirted mutant beauty
is kicking
conjugation is just beginning &
art tickles the clitoris of vision
the rich soil down there
needs kissing.



sandinista tequila tabasco
the mayor go 3-course with aristo & amigo from el real

chillipep ah! hot defrost ah! yellowbox meals
cashcrop equat ah! sowta merik tequile
salt & citric gunship
splash tabasc
combat gear.

back throat gone to overthrow
nost- guer- ril
coup d’état red as the clash go sandinist
blue as the argen

the voice of revolt

            all our mothers’ tears

aztec volcay no! erupto toot sweet

            aristo! my arse bleeds!

aristo one unfunny gringo
                                                     (we owes you compadre)

black shades – green beret – defoliate fields

            he wants heat i’ll give him heeaa-sheeit!
            get the vatican mucho quick!

(saints bless this
unholy ring)

aristo & amigo turn the flame on el fugitive;
the mayor outside in...


this sticky heat

cornhead primed, the wheatsheaf tide laps cliffhigh
in milky wet sunshine at the edge of field.

laid under bramble hedge, i roll pert blackberries between my teeth
project with my tongue & pop between your waiting lips.

over walnutwood eyes you drop your lids
loll fruit flesh & squeeze for release, suck juice, swallow pips.

we kiss, join & rejoice in the field off the gulling sea, reverberate the low breeze
the pumping thud of human blood, quiverheavy with salt & seed.

our sweated sighs entwine with the bush branch & leaf, the final flicked wingbeats
of blacksaffron bees prone on the sandy mud, each bleached with this sticky heat.