 |
| Double Portrait with Hat, c. 1936-1937 Dora Maar (1907-1997) gelatin silver print, montage with handwork on negative |
she said waver nothing noting
ghost higher ups like ripe grapes
and lame foxes but the boxes
of stuff you packed away were full
of disposable dust and must we continue
to breathe it in or can we store it near
where and what you used to be part of...
in cellar by the door if we must...
what say you, are you glad
awe finally hates you now...
do you finally feel safe
when it seems no one can
love this you any more
are you finally in
your natural environment
of bottom level dysfunction...
yeah... that's what we thought as well...
__________________________
the fermented journey begins:
I went subscription canceling
trying to get my best shoe to fit glove viewed
hands on and on and on I went on about some
bent crawling the cut glass hot parlor tricks...
sent your mother out
to dry wall and rock routines
you gleaned this from
perceptual blueprints
that I ought
to have used
more discretion with
around you kids...
the copper eye on
the under-wiring writing
of things here now
are done so
as not to raise alarms
did you read about
a bucket brigade-ist like Mao
marching after Chiang Kai-Shek
this will steal your happiness
with tales of scour
the font white noise terror
Dr. Frankenstein pauses
in all places even Persia
with its great cities
such as Tehran
where they once had
every boulevard
practicing arts
faith and knowledge
sadly this philosophy
seems no more welcome
there, as it is here
why would mythology
be anything
but, a handle-less
American Rome,
scandalous
in a butter sauce
better it seams
with sugars
and fillers to fit
where you're at
waiting on the new wardrobe...
emperor penguin flight
and all that fact fancy
to hold humanity
use held hive honey
collection agencies
auctions
lenders speared
headed spread
through out neighborhoods wield-ing
devoured by message techniques
propped a gland up boxed stepped
and voice carry approximation scans
are part soul machine
and wireless heart attacks
now no one believes
in magic or messiahs
just money mostly
and the spectral possibility
of a machine
gaining a soul
and the same status quo
as pets or other domesticates ...
I'm at an airport
waiting for carriage
to a seaside resort
triple points plasma retina screens
the wars on now
are successful comic strips
meant in three or four panels
to be implementation psychiatry
right hand path finder faith
left hand ironic toke waif
massive garbage piles
on the oceans, cut
the last mooring string
island chain couches
big cabooses boothe-ed
I lean forward
look to leap
inside the pornography...
a news bulletin
comes across
the tv's in english
they poisoned the wells
with irradiated interferons
and oblivion(s)
sin basket painted
a color you'd recognize
in the pitched black
for me to learn new songs
of the road house
I've went old school wild
a lawless intent
o'er and under lands meant
for conquer quiet
and simmer again
the background sounds
the places I hide sin
again against what
you are comfortable in
when not being noticed
much at all...
why not
eat well
into when
a smile
by yourself
was a must...
there were calls for lore gardens to be planted where the
factories once were and that every child should make toys and
that every adult should be made to play at least once a day for
an hour by themselves or face the hoses again...bare to brick
wall scrapes clothes off you all and plead mercies are not given
quarter here...and though lord, lady or other rank when so
caught up here...raw and ready surrender when the never end-
ers take flight into the vague and tender parts of any memory of
an us you once endeavored to save for just such an emergency exit
plan or relief map to an else where any wear else please...
EJR ©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...