INTERPLAY
Problematize!
let’s
test each other
try out this space
explore
what possibilities
what connection is
possible
what radical diffetence
in trajectory
what common
separate meanings we
attach to
words here
how play of difference
becomes
true
interplay
all the way.
VEHICLE
saw soldiers
dancing
beside their tanks
on top of
tanks
came
as a surprise to me
(won’t say
“shock”)
never before
made that
connection
ever saw tanks
as vehicles of love
THE POEM ITSELF
every poem
is a death knell,
death sentence
at one
and the same time, in
the same
breath
a wake up call and
astounding catalyst
so much ambivalence,
duality, simultaneity
helpless but to learn
how to coalesce
left lying around, unheard,
unfigured upon
waiting to be noticed
notice itself
THERE
feel you must be starved
so, disingenuously,
I offer you this poem
not sure how
life-sustaining
it will be (into
what food groups
do they fall:
metaphors, wordplay,
similes, images,
ink, paper?)
but
the thought is there
with poetry
the thought
should always be
there
here there
there here
what use
is anything
bereft of care?
BELIEVE
have the taste
of death in my mouth
can only believe
you got it too
now we smell,
we hear, we see
what all
your words mean
we look right through
your camouflage of light
into a darkness
no one should believe
we
all believe
BACON PIE
sat not writing anything
for a few hours
then
a whole
load of years
a word or two
did come up
but nothing
like to lead
to a poem
a he in Heaven
who from day one
resented my success
or anything
other than
my abject failure
happy as a pig
in mud
blind to the dazzling
treats of celestial beauty
(each and every)
munching his way
through a divine bacon pie
WITH WHAT PASSION?
with what passion
do you make love
Oh my sacred soldier
returning from duty
returning from the kill?
does it excite her
that she can smell
death on you, taste
the predator inside
of you
do you murder each other
ecstatic touch upon
ecstatic touch
no seeming end to
your divine lust
the whole night through
the lurid love
that you do here
fulfil
viewed
here
through the cold, dead, eyes of those
tortured, slaughtered,
mercilessly abused
a different,
alien perspective
RUBBLE
books were
my civilization
not enough
have
they taughr me
but where are
the books to
be seen
to be found
in these cities of
sky high
demented aspiration
built upon
rubble
and
when one
of those towers somehow
happens to
fall
teach me where to
find smooth smooth stones
midst all
that dust and rubble
poems 2 die for