September 24, 2015

la poema fa mangiare per sé...

William Mortensen (1897-1965) 'Nude with Demon',
from the series "A Pictorial Compendium of Witchcraft", circa 1926-1927 ©


la poema fa mangiare per sé

(if I convert my infidelities into a sack of acorns and a 
back-pocketed slingshot will the trees need to be 
worshipped as much as getting high on the female 

well, you are not what you seem
tall in the mirror mirror dome 
are you really tall or has the lead glass 
wept in slow tides past homes you once knew 
you belonged inside warm and waiting on Winter

I kneaded myself 
towards sanitarium plans 
I was yeasty, my mind 
grew up and down 
bubble, spit and crown
I couldn't stop 
the whitewash chorus 
of voices piercing 
their flights I fight them
wave after wave 
against rocks, abandoned cars 
and shipwrecked piers 
wholly peeling memories 
disguised as landscapes 
of vaguely familiar silhouettes 
the sins and regrets
turned graffiti that seemed to know 
I was talking to myself
should I jump from a bridge 
or eat a bullet 
after all this is America 
and we got enough guns 
to solve our obesity, class wars, 
poverty and over-population 
in fell swoop of suicides...

growing old is no longer an elegant thrive 
assisted living is jive turkey prison training wheels, 
canes and walkers and the inspirations 
are dimming for me...

I check myself in, to see if those 
are streetlights, souls or the way I used to be 
skinned tight in the tanneries 
of my despair and poisonous regard 
for anything that makes me happy...

do I know what does make me happy 
have I ever known this 
or am I an empty calorie and kiss
a moth headed to a fiery end 
seeking whether these vignettes 
are cupboard-bare and dare 
cones of lights 
or skimmed froth 
from dreams 
I once thought I had...

the shadows are forests 
of want, they are nothing more 
than human forms we once 
called, each of our lives...

the symptoms and symphonies 
are the sounds the leaves make
they are free will selling out, they know
what compels you to do what you do 
and their recorded histories 
are the rituals we repeat 
life after life


is civilized humanity supposed to fail 
does scrutiny and mutiny 
go so often hand and hand 
that this land has to be governed 
by a surveillance culture 
with its attaches that can manipulate 
the waves of grain and immigrants 
is everything fed to the grinder 
do the sausage makers delight 
in every new recruit 
is the solution always a veneer 
where the sick and tired 
the old, infirmed and weak 
become the miracle 
the plenty, the fish 
and the loaves of bread...

in this land 
of your land 
and my land 
will we have to hide 
behind snide delight 
in order not to fight...? 

the walls of stone and
high mounted security posts
are keeping the crushing throngs 
outside the gates 
thank god 
I don't want 
to share today...

"soylent green" was a movie once
where they told a tale 
about the miracle of food 
being made from people 
does feeding people people 
after the Earth says no more 
to the farmers and their ilk 
give us reason not to treason 
a divine purpose...?

are those who would patent seeds 
and genetic structures 
squeezing death for profit 
can we be a proud face 
where grace once was 
can we find a place 
where shadows go to remember 
they too, need light to grow...?



  1. I like the way the pose of the woman and the devil almost match in the pic, and I like the two poems that follow.

  2. Skimmed froth from dreams I thought I had...very nice imagery.

  3. this is darker than most I have ever read, a very dark future laying ahead. I do not hope we will eat each other, though I think we almost have done that..

  4. Love the ambition in this poem Edward - lots of power and strong original lines from someone who clearly has lived and danced both in the light and with the devil too... Interesting writing... With Best Wishes Scott

  5. Dark and rather hopeless poem here, a sensibility scraped almost raw, with some startling imagery. Very interesting.

  6. Finding what makes us happy is an endless and moveable fest..but i hope we always try...a powerful poem

  7. Truly it is about
    naked balance..
    hide the fruit
    and trees
    to reproduce
    more.. when
    fruit is
    it's time
    to get
    and dance
    my friend..
    can see
    the simple
    FREeDom of
    Truth and Light
    to that eternal
    this time
    and time
    only the real
    devils clothe humans
    in ways of fear

  8. No, "growing old is no longer an elegant thrive." In fact, most of life seems pretty dismal from this point of view...but I can't blame you. Just don't linger there very will not serve you.