LINEAR B
the treasure is hidden
maybe they buried it yesterday
perhaps it was not
and will not ever
be discovered
buried as it was
at the beginning of time
but here is Homer
who threw his two
books at my head
as the goddess Athena
instructed
giving me
the choice between the epic,
the poetic, on the one hand,
and on the other, narrative story
via a story that is simply
the mythos
of story itself
having, for my sins and
pretensions, run with
the promise of this goddess,
eschewing the chance
to be loved or
figure of power, status
and wealth
for which
error in judgement
no Trojan war
in my lifetime, but
the enmity of Aphrodite
and
lack of
intimate touch
but back to the drawing board
and the key
theme of this piece
though Homer’s works oral
and recited
I am sure I read of scholarship
of text
voice reduced to word
in script
Linear A or B, perhaps
(given the nature of
this industry) all the way
through (American
pronunciation here
if you please) a
Linear Z
and me, unlike
my Father, so cyclic, so
non-linear
cannot
connect dots together, am
totally
unable to
draw a straight line
my Father sketching plans
to meet highest expectations,
serious
engineering requirements
and here I am, for
my part
a Nobody poet, almost
drowned
still journeying home
my words
running across
strict
line division, gallivanting
this way
and that way
flaunting, luxuriating in
the joy of
enjambment
buzzing like bees
(no
epic simile) all over the page
and so much I have
here
thrown out on technicality
that great 9000 Cyclops red
eye giving me
the wherefores
and whys
and me pulling the plug on
your blackboard your
whiteboard
T square and micrometer
searching
before we leap into
the arms of the Sirens, are
devoured by
Scylla, sucked into Charybdis
for what
the game is here, the genre,
the argument, the premise
the narrative
scribbled
somewhere on that board, in
its circuits and relays
somewhere buried there inside
in the floor beneath in
the wall behind
a treasure, a dark truth,
a secret
desperate to be lost
desperate to arrive
poems 2 die for 