Iuno Camena (Juno Poetry)

Aestas demanat tergum in focus denuo iterum, et Iuno
consumit lunasine noctes vergens tergum in reversatum-
oleum imaginis somnum, consopitum lubricum colfe cunis. Illa
somniorum pix libera, rivangatum ab profundum, sugentens
pollices et digitos quod extende aequorilaxum cum aestum.
Singulis clamor est depressam ad somnum, dum aliquis miscete
et biascicate excusat circa pisciossa deprendit in iugula
et quomodo nemo scitum incubones posset aquae supernatet.

Tantum cum calcanea conglutinatum simul poterant picem libera
transfera runas aequori retundendum in ruinas
sui praeterita aut intellige quomodo mittentes hydrocarboneum -illaque
salebras in aequor pavimentum est vulnerata litorem. Et solum Iunoni,
manus-on-cor-on-manica (-Reginae kerosene, deum inspirata
libera et omnis marinus casualitas quod dormientium nimis cito-) possit intellegeretit
cur interiores Telluri ubi extirpatum suam in consectationis
obstinatii plasticum res.

Translatio:

Summer seeps back into focus once again, and Juno

spends the moonless nights bending back into spilt-

oil images of sleep, lulled slick in a gulf cradle. She

dreams of tar babies, dredged from the deep, sucking

thumbs and fingers that spread oceanwide with the tide.

Each cry is sunken to a slumber, whilst someone shuffles

and mumbles excuses about fishbones caught in throats

and how no-one knew nightmares could float on water.

Only with heels congealed together could the tar children

translate the runes of an ocean beaten back into the ruins

of its own past, or understand how casting hydrocarbon-cut

ruts in the sea floor has scarred the shore. And only Juno,

hand-on-heart-on-sleeve (-Queen of kerosene, the god-breathed

babies and every marine casualty that slept too soon-) can realise

why the insides of the earth were uprooted in the pursuit

of persistently plastic things.