Friday, January 27, 2012
Waiting, Pt. 2
...it is the prominent moment that counts in the record book, but all those other moments had families, too...they felt things, did things, some ordinary, some strange, some defy all explanation...no one wants to have t explain this stuff that happens, they want it to be self explanatory, they want it t sell, sell, sell...sold...gone on too far on a cool breeze blown at a cold time when the latent prints were left behind in the form of icicle daggers through the heart, nothing left for the crime channel or the court tv or the kardashian shopping network or even the cooking channels to stew up into some blend of cathartic bonanza happy cowboy ending on the rootin' tootin' ponderosa where the lil' doggies are not afraid of the hoss that walks backwards toward them...I told the maitre' dee at the airport deli to make me a reuben w/ corned beef n mustard n he told me he did not like poetry which I dug to mean he didn't like peoms w/ the poets in them, which I dug wild (the whole "I" always being about me is a drag to read, everypoet being an "I" already, its 2 much sometimes, don't u agree?), cuz I don't want to be here I would rather be there watching the hitch up happen in the common man's happenstance, altho the cold is still more common than anything (could you close that window, please) and don't, under any circumstances, type BOMB in this moment as the taxi down the runaway has been postponed because of a pre-existing condition so as to not jeopardize all the clever things that they can do with social security now that there is an election going on they can erase the last remnants of slavery, but don't tell those guys over there cuz they don't seem like they would understand and that might make things worse for the rest of them, knowaddimean? nudge/nudge wink/wink....this is where the astertrix would stop you and give you some supplemental information bout how low we can go in this dick chopping, bushwhacking contest that has become the digression of the times while wild billionaires run around with the idea that there is plenty more where that came from, whatever that was, & don't worry too much because you are gonna bring the ratings down & we might lose the asian subtitles that are necessary to keep investment potential up as well as trade agreements agreeable...why shouldn't a third of the planet own everything, just so there would be a new sheriff that knew the score...the time machine has been running overtime as the wheels of fortune turn & twist in the wind of no articular determination, so as to proliferate a new, more virile form of communication that involves human centrifuges that could produce new clear wintertime landscapes that could mean christ mast all year round for the kids (they'll love that, is the word on the street) no more happy new year's will be needed so put away all the noisemakers & quit rocking the boat so much cuz we are all in this liferaft together n it ain't gonna get easier until you all learn to go easy into the night as the blades are now readyto slice n dice all the needy peeples into neat lil' ribbons that will be tied into bows on the everyday present under the neverending tree of lifetime subscriptions to a more posterior standing in the community of what is passing for cultural stimulation these days...they are ready now, for boreding...
Death Is A Soft Vision, Always Beckoning
she stares so cold into now
taking away every last breath
she holds hands with us all
she ends lifetimes
with a lick of lips
with a slight smile
without any noticeable
change of expression
or exasperating sound
coming from her throat
not because she
does not care
more so, because
she has held the hands of those
that even she felt deserved
but, it was not to be
so she goes about her business
a long, infinite stare in her eyes
that has lasted forever
it is a forever that is
so long so that
no one knows
more than her
it will last
for anyone, least of all
Thursday, January 12, 2012
she is more than clever
she is more than well read
line for line
she is more than heart
but, she is mostly that
she is more than the
she is living in the sanctuary
of the place where words
are reborn in rediscovery
over and over again
to a standing ovation
from all the souls
kept inside the Dewey decimal
formation that shelters
all this hopeful abundance
of wordsmithed dreams
made real as they are spoken
each word another angel
brought to life
as it exits the mouth
of every poet
she has chosen
Please Learn To Call Me In Your Dreams, Pt. 1
I am almost asleep, but not quite
the phone rings as if it might be
part of some sadistic dream
I am turning into a nightmare
but, I get it, finally
I wake up and grab the vibrating thing
just before it falls to the floor
"Hey, did I wake you?"
I am not quite aware
enough to answer
"No, I was just laying here...uh,
on the couch..."
the lie pulls me into consciousness
"So, are you going to send me that piece
you wrote for the upcoming issue?"
I hesitate a moment, WTF is she...oh, yeah...
"I have it almost ready, a couple
more days is all...is that gonna work for you?"
I am not really sure what day it is or what
upcoming refers to in any sort of time frame
"Well, I want to look it over and give you feedback, is all."
go fuck yourself, I will wipe your genetic code from the face of existence
"You know, tie up all the loose ends, typos, cut the fat, an editor has to
do her job."
why the fuck did I agree to this...fucking lames that think they can write
or wrestle the meaning of someone's art with their bland machine
with their conformist mechanics, their protogeekist tool hands
their heartless, mindless software residue plans
trying to gum up my fucking works
I gave up killing snitches, traitors, backstabbers along with all other
forms of miscreant DNA drivel so I could live a little bit longer
so I could maybe have a shot at a bit of freedom I was
never able to make happen the way I had been living
since I was just a kid...I gave up...almost...
there are a few thing no one can take from me...
"Yeah, I thought it was the piece you read that you wanted,
why don't you just tell me what you want to do to it? Maybe
it is not what you want after all. Maybe you need another
style of writing that I don't do."
"Well, Andrew,"(I could send someone to your house at 5am
for calling me anything but what you know you should call me...)
"I hope its OK if I call you that? (Actually, no its not, who the fuck
do you think you are?) " Anyway, Andrew, I just wanted to explain
to you that its my job to edit your piece into something that fits into
our literary journal so that it has a cohesion to the rest of the work in there."
why is this persons problem mine all of a sudden?
oh yeah, I was being agreeable with civilians again
they play by a different set of rules
adhere to a different set of principles
they are all politely clawing & scratching
for some recognition in the greatest of
senses for the mediocre choices they have made
they never joined a side, they just asked for protection
from involvement for their capitulation to the hive mentality
they take all these ideas so serious, like freedom under the god
of the constitution that is guaranteed by the armed forces they
turn a blind eye to when the corruption falls onto people at the bottom
of the pile...they are like rabbits used as bait to trap the combatants who
would rather die than give up their allegiance to unfettered freedom of total
refusal to be governed by political manipulations that corrupt people into marks
for the systemic oversight of institutional living with minds held in bondage from
seeing or seeking the truth about the life of the beast that is the human animal as
it stands as one part of a whole universal system that is greater than any construct
of laws that are instituted to give false senses of security to drones of complicity as they
drone on into the future of an antiseptic lock step marching of codified ideations of artistic
output...wait...she is still talking...it seems she has asked a question...I don't have a clue...
"Yeah, I will send it to you in a couple of days...is that okay?"
"Umm, sure...are you okay? Did you understand what I was getting at?"
...this is what I get for being agreeable and lying...I must make amends...
"yeah, look, to be honest, I was sleeping. I don't think your publication is right for me.
nothing personal, but I am more simple in my terms of creation, of creative output...
sorry for the misunderstanding on my part...as for your part, my name is razor...don't
call me if you can't call me by my name...please learn to call me in your dreams from now on...thanks