Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

So here you are, sir,
in the shadow of the tilt,
the tented dark,

done with the stick and rag show:
the dizzying plinky-plonk galloper tunes,
the popcorn, piranhas & pin-heads,

the Half-Woman – a bust on her pedestal –
the mule-face who brays in his booth,
the Aethiop savage girl white as your wife,

and here I am,
wonder of wonders!
You look nervous, sir.

Is it the mewl of the tyger?
He’s harmless, toothless.
The Bird-headed lady only squawks

for the Skeleton Man –
whose heart at last ate of itself –
& the grind shows are shutting,

the last thieves shushing
those foolish enough to be out.
So come on, closer:

trace the fur of my face,
moist at the mouth, pink lips,
the string-of-pearls teeth –

it’s softer than sawdust,
softer than wolves,
a tangle to tug.

You will yearn to be butterfly-netted,
clamber its rope, part it
& sink in to drink,

& there’s no whalebone stay
beneath this dress
to make me shit blood like your missus,

no, sir, just pelt:
its beast wagon scent,
a thick coat that needs tonguing clean.

I have watched many times
how desire contorts men –
how they tattoo my name down their spines,

how they flail on their nail-beds,
gulp fire, swallow swords;
how they make those sounds that are not words.

How I’ll make the suit and snuff,
the ledgers and the way you pass the port –
all your life – feel like a ghost walk.

Some say we are clairvoyant,
saints or witches.
I say we make you want what you most fear –

if he is she, if wrong feels right,
then what are you, sir?
My fellow freak, come kiss this beard. Here.