Corey Wakeling


The Gaze of Hotel Ruin

Hope shored against abandon, however
your Koreans flourish
at the pittance open crypt, the pocks in Kumagaya,
post-War lovely. Pastures of the tonsil crypt.

Part two: Germans, gains for nurture.
Comparatively in Preston, the road measures meekly,
but then you’ve shouted me troth pizza before
on an eye of the storm drag gravely windswept,
bought once before with sooty dollars,
fawn laureate and game for knife fighting.

The street corner deserted what scavenging
ushers, the rats that rustle vinyl tassels,
the pigeons that snap at all those alum
nostrils. Swear the chin is the most obvious the.

Preston chatty, he had turned to me like the judge
I’d met in LA and for whom the profession
of lawyer was beneath the shored pediment
and iron agate fist like magnitude.
Okay, troth was the reminder. Okay, I understood.
In particular, this turning torsional the diadem
psychopomp strained
to hear exile, so turned toward us both
with the coalmine grimace. And tall impediment.
Coal makes it all worthwhile, Korean labourer
inland forgot, only the iron bullets are obvious
in their weightiness. For shame, hoard
adjudicator, though glory’s lights are embers.
No shibboleth or prête nom gaiety for you,
wisecrack independent.


An introrse gobo lattice of limestone erect
so that all your guilty look outward, the cold
reminds me of sobriety. Bathos, just looking at
you recalls profoundest chill driest.


The sun is a moon but gums are plenty.
Good luck with world’s heritage, the category.
We remember each every word if redoubled
under the iron mask of the court or courtship,
the court of courtship especially, or even
the Francophile literary tradition
of courtship of court:

Its schema:

court courtship of courtship court is the summer,
courtship court of court courtship is the autumn,
court court courtship of courtship courtship court is the winter,
courtship courtship court of court court courtship in the spring,

which is this very second Razo frozen bridling the prayer beads
to a wild pig that gently wandered into this,
our field and wet season claypit, where none
but the labourer abandoned grows, his song
the detrimental but gainful draw to pig’s sty but is not
when it’s sprightly, wistful seasonal effervescence
tug sounds like bad children cutting
the great tangent of new bones.

The best festival then salutation to an inland empire if already
cinema. These hours all otherwise slumps pending. The bale chokes,
‘boatswain’, wind cries M–. Your ocarina service to the haunt
was good service,
but clay ends in abundance. What doing but ceramics?
From hoard to horde? Whose karaoke notices? Caucus of essence,
mark the repeats of an always already present Present, and no hands
but headlocks to narrative raillery. Damn it

cheese medley, the iron choice I beg, since I am known for taste
in judgements fed muscatel. Wisp quiet of loom. The moon is sun all day
and dreams a living parasol, the conference toll.

Fire sulphur soot, animate
Sea of Japan.