Thinking about Leonora Carrington’s work… and this strange relatively recent poem

Wild Boy Digs a Hole

wild boy digs a hole, lives in it. vole-eyed and fierce

[radiation titillates the margin of burn area that gnaws her breasts.]

he digs his way into the world. shacks of cardboard, old railway ties. they leave him

alone.

[memory of her mammaries weeping.]

when he grows up he becomes a grave digger. lives in between

the cemetery and the railway tracks. the shack is clean and sparse. his wild beautiful wife

sings bird songs.