AND VANITY PRESS
I am
all about death
and vanity
press
this i
(readily) confess
to
both
woman
and
God
the chimes
in my head
both essence
of poetry
but also
cash register
and so I write
of holocaust and genocide
things that
lately delight
if not
why so tiny effort, huge
reluctance
to stop
doing so?
the sound effects of
slaughter
so much
one can do with them
FLOW KYLE
go with
the flow Kyle
trust
your instincts
at least
feel
your instincts
develop
an instinctual feel
imbibe your book
your sheets
swallow, digest
embody
then
throw away
run with what you
are good at
true to
is burning
inside you
play come
what may with
power
and way
release the huge
deluge of positive
carry
the day
FOSSIL
call me a fossil
but my eyes
are fixed like Medusa’s om
the clock that be
telling me
I got ninety
seconds to midnight
got me wondering
when midnight chimes
what in
this fairy tale
gets deconstructed, what
gets utterly transformed
and me
having to make my
own way, own
sorry way
all the way back home
forsaking the regal palace
as it warps and
shape-shifts and dissolves
as the book instructs
on practically every page
of its
dense, comple text
trapped between
such
fiery covers
(colour
in this instance
saying it all)
SUPER BOWL POEM
woke up
in time to hold off
on the SuperBowl result
worst fears confirmed when
I summoned up courage
to check
yep Brock loves God
but Brock loves
Patrick Mahomes
(does not seem
to care much about
Head Coach Kyle Shanahan)
and at this
juncture, out of the blue,
an unruly host of
archetypes made their move
wanted to stick
around a bit, get
the lie
of the land in the process
of passing through me
a mad mosaic it was
for a while
many shapes and
sizes, manners and
demeanours
jostling up against each other
(Brownian motion)
excanging, debating,
doing their
dialectic dance, analysis
synthesis
no homogenizing
and there I was in a carnivalesque dream
chatting to the players in
St Francis’ kingdom
of those elevated
high above
the realms
of material wealth
peering into the abyss that
a philosopher cum psychologist
had laid
before me
a tablet broken with the
entire script jagged
and there on the road
a burnt out humvee
and there in the docks
a rusting destroyer
archetypes at home within
settling
for a game of solitaire
and me
thinking, wondering,
who does have a
prophetic bone in this
my body
is winning everything?
and if it is not
will there ever
indeed
be an end to war?
KYLE AT CHESS
After those blown
final quarters think
I should
play Kyle at chess
across 64 white
black squares
he would
not be at his best
checking on
his playbook
instead of
analyzing the
board
fools mate, scholars mate,
smothered mate
quick
into the pan
fried liver mate
one, two,
three, West
Coast, East Coast
Bobby Fischer
(merciful) mate
he wouldn’t need to
worry about
the torture of
leading
heading into an
endgame, being
outmanouvered
at the end
GIMME
world’s
falling apart
little children
getting blown
to
smithereens
so gimme that
sweet false consciousness
that would come
with a
SuperBowl victory
don’t let Mahomes
spoil everything
with
an insane overtime
charge
this after Kyle left
his best laid plans
in a briefcase
in the
locker room
this is not
the script I want,
I need
so write me a new one
bring me that
thick syrupy delusion
that a Niners’
Vegas victory
would bring
the world falling apart
bits
of little
children
how come I always get
caught this way
how come
I’m not
so smart
CLIMB
want to K2 you
Evel Knievel
you up to the summit
see how
deep it goes
your
razamataz
no drop off
slip slide away
sheer ice crevasse
swallow us up
out of
nowhere
no perfect foot
and finger holds
ropes to bind ua
keep
us sure in
our connection
luxury of a perfect
crazily easy climb
DAWN
dawn
but it is never
a true dawn is it?
always just a metaphor
for a thing that can never be
and so that border zone
between soft light
and soft darkness
must surrender
the light proclaims itself
another day, and
big deal
soon the machine warms up
sets itself the task
of fulfilling
the mandate
day as before, as yesterday,
as every day that has ever been
STAR
a star
came
close to you
too close
to you
frazzled yoi
left you
insane
eyes bulging
with neon
wild
lurid ultra violence
you mistook
for exaltation
for a sacred
script
uniquely revealed
poems 2 die for