Tuesday, December 10, 2013

drafts [unfinished

an orphan always has the feeling that he is
occupying a position which at any moment
the real child will show up and assume

you wait for that tap on the shoulder
at which point you move back into shadow
while the real child takes your place which

was only a holding-place a space you held
in lieu of the real child whose seat you
were saving waiting for him to arrive at

which point you became superfluous or
worse a simulacrum or worser a timer for
his advent a countdown to his existence


The leaves fall barefoot and therefore
negate their prey, though as always I try
not to swallow the dolls that strangle me.

Link between noose and once, 
incompatible as a pair of dice 
and twins I divvy serenity the gods 
once offered daily to Versailles. [

Lacking the juice sense of it what use am I.

Motiveless love, sheerlost hymn of the true,
can I read the seance-meter to see
how thick with ghosts the air will be tonight;

paging my desk or drinking t-square juice,
over the head of my hearing it falls to pose—
the Bride of Tantalus dances with motherly hands

moving side to side, no stagefright bones her
nakedness, they waft like stranglers' pencils
over my imminent knee-dross.  Hydra

at my heels. A tongue lag in the dialogue
resumes.  Erecting arches for now when
each candle bends over to touch its toes

that would have freed me vie
some mortality of means. Manic text
hailing a higher theme each scene. But all
agree it's not me the secret signal sends
I'm what's absent
when Columbus shoves a flag in that cunt.
obsequity/ cavorting


If a mask remembered all the faces on
which it had been placed,
it might soon be worn transparent,
worn out by memories. 

And metaphorically I should be
faded thin by those that have kissed me,
that have pressed their face over mine.
I should be rendered invisible and I am.

Perhaps it's easier to walk over hot coals
if you wear a disguise.  A costume
helps one avoide the pain of waking
up and seeing someone leaning above you
with pursed lips.

darkmatter bleached by lightyears
explains the cloud of Einstein's hair
and the klepto's keyring explains
all the closed doors we encounter

but in the real world of inexplicable
you can't help it when they align you
with some minor arcana
born of which I kiss

at the exit expo experts explain
how you got here but not
of course how you leave
they save that for the postmortem

I twiddle with fish-thistles
or kneeling to caress a tail-less crotch
remember that the speech apathy of twins
pimple-pleases more sibilantly than ours

the hiss of the S when repeated
as they echo each other's every thought
must lisp pleasantly as it
resounds through the hieratosphere of resemblances

everywhere lying idle or exile I sigh
using beggars to soothe the streets
probably doesn't help the sidewalks
where they have to crouch wheedling

in the sky where physicists live
it operates differently
up there a cyclops swan swallows
the stars that whimper like thatched cymbals

painting the light in parasol colors
the poor beggar pauses to take chains
and explain why capitalism centerstage
her poems always seemed a lot better after cunnilingus

Salome Herod beheaded have a lot to explain
in the bible where clouds have a lot of hair
Einstein's own coiffure
requires quantic disbelief

beauty is backpedal
the continuum spins the pedestal
beneath which I grovel
childhood fades in untold photographs
even the clouds want down please
her iso-splendor of arm pointed out
where stars like gnawed thimbles glow
and dawn dild on my gildmold lids

after the monster drinks the world
he spits out all the people
and they fall into abundance
if abundance is the opposite of this

encore whose enema eats me
don't want you enough to know you
watch my occupant clutch parts of his breast
foundlings of a tweezers species  

embracesomely he was
and felt this random urge to unhand a juggler
unless the cows (those old belgians) were
conveying a debonair vowel
inept attacks swept the barracks
during some antique sleep modes
they kept their demands sultry  
as zeroes scamper across the clock
they scrounged and smoked a lozengeskull
which prompted this roam-colored ghazal
I am an aspirin-old that's all
don't know you enough so I want you
slavish pensive as senile mic succor
though our flesh is minus now the tongue's doubt
your pout (chagrin of suede) led the nation
 divestment empire as that should be lit
writhic and positively full of loll
it's not enough to know you to want you
you know gridlock season of teasers
you see the bottom of that wishingwell festering
shot into strato
spaced and sparsed
sprayed among errata it waters what
to attenuate my trauma
the corruption of cloying devils swathed in sash his flotsam
doesn't want you enough to ignore you

spittled draped doped fluke finale
 torso fed the marathon beyond shuddering
sullen torn essence across his false perplex of pubes

fear your sedatives will save


1 comment:

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