LIGHT OF DAY(VID)
Hey StarMan
if Creation were
a Burroughs cut-up
what would it look like?
how would
it read? How
now brown cow
short of
spiders on Mars
how would
it sound?
imagine you carefully cutting
up every conceivable world
down
to the size
of subatomic particles
taking great care
to mash them together
perfectly
at random
see
what we have
whether it will survive
the light of day.
FLOOD
poetry should
come
in flood
to be
any good
he said, this
bar room
brawler, boozer
of the word
did
and who am I
to pick
a fight with him
(what kind of
Charlie would I then be?)
and truth be told
hate the very
thought of once
more into
the rewriting, yet
more drafting
the thing with a mind to
resist, go
where it secretly insists,
be the
very soul
of entropy
and here we are
draft five, six, eight
or seven
express elevator down to Hell
it feels, no
stairwell to
melodic heaven
fast and furious
brain to paper
nothing lost
perfect tbirty seconds
and me, slaving away to
be
contrapuntal, speak
counter-
argument
wondering, dear reader,
dear reader
how so many of you
so so quick
to come
to snap judgement
make slick quick poetic love
to the smokey
soul of this man
who would not have
you touch the poem
until it
scresms at you
insisting
on birth
insisting on life
life on the line
down with an offer you
dare not refuse
****
LUMINE
you wound me
up like
a clockword
gave me
an extra turn
then pushed
me to the limit
harder a taskmastee
more cruel
in your tutelage
than Tarantino’s Pai Mei
but when
we broke that limit
my limit
brought me back
from a death
that bird sang a song
sweet fluting lyric that
touched
the firmament
DARKER TURN
when I die
condense all
I was
and now am
into a love poen
single, short, to the point
thing of night and dream
and moment when
all our darkness
all that
we are
of darkness
thrives, comes alive
knows
the bliss
of a star
when I die
turn me into
a love poem
short
and to the point
nothing special
of diamond, golden
thing in the heavens
like Romeo’s heart
speaking plainly
not
(as Juliet did envision)
beautifully scattered
and then
if I am read
(if you
are the one to read)
put
what did, what was
into some
forever parenthesis
just to say, remind me,
that I am
thing of absence,
thing of
the darkness now
this
small, petty life that
writes
being so
preoccupied with what it says
what said
took a
sweeter, darker turn
CAVE
by the time
news of the election
happened to reach me
it had aged, ten
twenty years
and I had
aged a thousand
so sarcastic thanks
due to Albert
opening this can of worms
despite the shock of relativity
the news
was soggy with conjecture
about coalition
of the centre
vaunted talk too of
government
of national unity and
me so far
out the frame, swinging
pitching
in left field
not boding well
my initial gut reaction, by
the time
I’d sussed the story
seemed
all talk of rebirth, revision,
repentance and renewal
at every
little individual, and
of course, the national level,
was perhaps
a tad
too hopful, insanely premature
but this analysis killed
left me crippled, ancient
as old
as Plato
him stuck way back when
still dreaming of his
Republic of philosophy, hierarchy,
meritocracy
and me
totally
abstractrd
out of the picture
still hanging around,
for better or forcworse
somewhere
near the backwall of
his absurdly
over-estimated cave
***
poems 2 die for