Bog-Body Icing Bags by Moxy Casimir

a dream of repurposing


where there should be a wire and feather fly

this fisher’s twisting smiles between their fingers

too pinched, too pulled, too tightly bound, they die

too wide and they’re the gapes of opera singers


they cast these perfect smiles on bull-rushed marshes

bared teeth ripple less than a midge’s frisk

rain denting the downcast sky gives them moustaches

star-punctuated moons make them mutter ‘tsk’


the planet lets its shadows run amok

clouds shred themselves, sun sizzles their remains

keep-net gargles quantum particles ad hoc

when the marsh bursts with a shoal of feral stains


they take the bait, they bite the smiles, they thrash

bog-bodies like poltergeists with leather belts

astral paragliding nuns land with panache

the occasion gains the tang of the occult


nuns in waders haul bog bodies through the reeds

poor, leaky, slit, cord-squeezed peat-softened parcels

smiles for collars, rod and line for leads

and they shed bones: their ribs, their metatarsals


‘you’re going to be repurposed, shabby chic’d

from pagan sacrifice to righteous icing bag

you will sugar craft the scriptures, blessed antiques,

squirting sweet truth through your toe-holes till you sag’