the witch thinks about what it would be like to fuck the government
the government would be an octopus would it or no a giant squid
that huge cobalt industrial complex eye
how can anything be that big
how can basically a prawn swell and swell to these Cousteau proportions
you can’t see where its sex parts are you can only see the eye the huge
impossible eye much more sophisticated than an x-ray
which only sees bones this sees soul this sees sin this sees your GPS location
the fucking happens without visibility there are things touching the insides of you
perhaps its huge phallus has entered you and is moving around but then again
it could be one of the tentacles and you don’t have any way of knowing
there must be pornos a lot like this but with slightly less rare animals
unsurprisingly witch thinks it would not be nice in the traditional sense of nice
the pulsating tentacles or phallus or phalluses breaking into different sections of
your body as if you are an unpicked thread material meeting material slowly
taking the speech bits and the feelings bits and uncoring them like slit avocados
discarding and melting down and widening into a colossal shouting
on the other hand there are some elements that want absolutely no resistance at all
that want to slick and shuddering the parts that hurt gone and vomited
it is horrifying but easy it doesn’t take effort forcing yourself to watch a bad film
but just happens the brine flow and the thick parts soldering into your vagina
your own eye is closed your own breath is making sympathies saying let’s stay healthy
or somewhere out in the sea I found myself and melted into this everything
even though the fucking is deeply impersonal and separate each breast a round cushion
of disconnected pleasure still it has worked out something intimate about your weak dark inside region
still as you separate and click off there is a growing national pride in not being your actual self but
something whole and gigantic and full of salt and progress and power and clean covered in oil
and travelling ink and passports that go anywhere and have a long series of numbers printed on them








the witch thinks about what it would be like to
fuck woods and not the government
the stretch of land is green but has redness in the soil
the trees gather around a path from Roman times which
has sunk into the ground an opening flashing and brightening
fucking the trees is giving back the means of production to the trees
xylem and blood vessel outreach tell me how it is when there’s a storm
not that different because we all shake but some don’t
have a shelter it can’t be made romantic branches are entering different
parts of your body is that right different parts of your body are entering
branches you are shouting loudly and thistles racketing about in here inside
your radical opening and singular throat sounds for this to work you can’t
spend more than four hours on the ground clearing bracken or cutting
because it ruins so easily when it is not a choice the tree is taking
water from you drenching and it has an archive of season and this is what it is like to
feel snow pushing hard in between your legs cold and magisterial and probably not in any
widely available porno when the summer gets in there inside the pockets of your arms
open sweaty mouth space is being made that widens and separates more and more and
you look the same but really green hair you forget the words for assessment criteria
for investigation for intersection for fence for phallus for trunk for the thing the thing the thing one solar
panel opening eat it up and eat it up stacked cream layers of light
skin just touching the next fine membrane of skin the page with a hoof mark a peaking stain






These poems are taken from Tamás’s debut collection WITCH, out with Penned in the Margins on 20 March 2019.

Vintage 1954
A Night in the Engadine