Canny Amah Poet I do not know?

X: the Corpse By the Ref

Dearest Prof –
Upstairs, downstairs:
Racing ref-wards: lasses
(Prof, a roused lad saw them)
Breaking through the prime fogs
Racing like some fleece-hunters
Led by a night-gowned lass
(Where could they be going?)
The peering at something in soils:
Some retreated – wordless!
Like a soul peeved by a sight.

Dearest V.C. –
Many racing clay of lads: restless!
Racing ref-wards as the lasses
(Prof, a roused lad saw them)
A corpse at the rear of our ref
(Prof, a roused lad saw it there)
The thick stagnate flood
The naked log devoid of pistils 
Was it a sermon for each beast?
(Who cut down this limping tree
From this famous forest of pantology?)

Dearest Prof –
Each beast: even rabbi-beast
Came and saw himself
In a log: that naked log
“A rebel caught by pig-watchers!”
(A roused lad herd it told!)
Was the log alone in the mad act? 
The corpse by the ref
Whose flesh & blood was he?
And those two dry logs lying at Medical Centre
Whose bones & blood were they?

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