Untouchable, savage, primitive
smeared with tribal dirt
A word of the lowest caste,
Too strong for delicate nobles.
A grunt of surging life.
A yell of pagan sex
too fierce for civilisers.
A witching-word, a wight of English:
Four runes, in a fixed order.
Hide none, or you nix the magic.
It has power over puritans, but passes over heathens.
A word of mouth.
Spoken in smoky hovels,
waiting down the dark centuries
for the foreign lords to weaken.
A word of wife to husband
in the long dawn of life:
‘Come, let’s fuck.’
(First published in Pixel Papers)