Perhaps it's the chest pains.
Towards the end, against all mounting evidence,
he begins to believe
he might actually be a poet.
After all, this is how
it's supposed to be, isn't it?
Verse flowing free, dancing on tanks
in the square, liberated from the petty fascism
of Editing and Content,
that doppelkopfed dictator
with red pens for fingers and a nice line
in slurs. Now he swings
from a dual gallows.
Yet the dread rises.
This is how it's supposed to be,
isn't it?
Thursday, 26 November 2009
#89 - The Name Is A String
You knot it round the bad molar,
tie the other end round a doorknob
then slam -
the poem ought to pop out
all bloody and free.
Ought to.
Lately though, it's gotten harder.
The door's begun to stick
and I'm running out of teeth.
tie the other end round a doorknob
then slam -
the poem ought to pop out
all bloody and free.
Ought to.
Lately though, it's gotten harder.
The door's begun to stick
and I'm running out of teeth.
#88 - Primary Itch
He paces his study for days
claiming writer's block
but, in fact,
just randy.
It's tough, when all your friends
are 'colleagues', to explain
you've got this little
problem:
your thesis is going to be late
unless you get to hump
someone. Not very
scholarly.
The Classics may chunter on about love
but he suspects they were just
gussying up something
much blunter.
He treads the rug bald; feeds
pencil after pencil into
the automatic
sharpener.
claiming writer's block
but, in fact,
just randy.
It's tough, when all your friends
are 'colleagues', to explain
you've got this little
problem:
your thesis is going to be late
unless you get to hump
someone. Not very
scholarly.
The Classics may chunter on about love
but he suspects they were just
gussying up something
much blunter.
He treads the rug bald; feeds
pencil after pencil into
the automatic
sharpener.
#87 - An Irregular Complexity Of Filaments
This spindling tic-leg intricacy
you get under a microscope -
how the proboscis seems to branch and fan,
not just black but glacier blue, taupe
and the white of a paparazzi flash:
Heh. 'PARASITE SLAMS "GROSS INVASION OF PRIVACY"'
I picture him leafing through a tiny tabloid
with his scissoring mandibles,
flinching when he finds his pics.
you get under a microscope -
how the proboscis seems to branch and fan,
not just black but glacier blue, taupe
and the white of a paparazzi flash:
Heh. 'PARASITE SLAMS "GROSS INVASION OF PRIVACY"'
I picture him leafing through a tiny tabloid
with his scissoring mandibles,
flinching when he finds his pics.
#86 - Gulliver, Nifty, Patience & Otter
Almost a decade has passed since I last saw Death.
When I think of Him at all, which is rarely,
I put the affair down to the stress
of my father's terminal illness, and how
Death seemed to really understand.
My girlfriend and I are married now.
She has become quite successful with a range
of illustrated gardening manuals.
We have four children:
Gulliver, Nifty, Patience and Otter,
the last a little in-joke between me and her,
and only occasionally employed
to underscore a subtly barbed remark.
We are happy, whatever that vast,
featureless egg connotes.
We live in the country and mulch things.
When I think of Him at all, which is rarely,
I put the affair down to the stress
of my father's terminal illness, and how
Death seemed to really understand.
My girlfriend and I are married now.
She has become quite successful with a range
of illustrated gardening manuals.
We have four children:
Gulliver, Nifty, Patience and Otter,
the last a little in-joke between me and her,
and only occasionally employed
to underscore a subtly barbed remark.
We are happy, whatever that vast,
featureless egg connotes.
We live in the country and mulch things.
#85 - When Kong Met Elvis
'Wait...
I thought you...
Aren't you supposed to be...'
The two legends mirrored each other perfectly,
then burst out laughing.
From then on,
everything was gravy.
They wore sunglasses in public to protect
their identities; sometimes they baked
linseed bread - 'It exfoliates your colon,'
Elvis said, patting his rump with a rueful smirk.
Sunday was antiquing day -
they both hated kitsch for kitsch's sake,
they both loved walnut,
though Kong was the better haggler.
'Every night, you're in my prayers,'
Elvis often said, knowing this rankled
the staunchly atheist Kong, who, for his part,
had named the teapot Betrand.
They were too evenly matched at Chess
to really enjoy it. 'It's like you can read
my thoughts,' said Elvis, as again they sat
stalemated with two lone kings.
I thought you...
Aren't you supposed to be...'
The two legends mirrored each other perfectly,
then burst out laughing.
From then on,
everything was gravy.
They wore sunglasses in public to protect
their identities; sometimes they baked
linseed bread - 'It exfoliates your colon,'
Elvis said, patting his rump with a rueful smirk.
Sunday was antiquing day -
they both hated kitsch for kitsch's sake,
they both loved walnut,
though Kong was the better haggler.
'Every night, you're in my prayers,'
Elvis often said, knowing this rankled
the staunchly atheist Kong, who, for his part,
had named the teapot Betrand.
They were too evenly matched at Chess
to really enjoy it. 'It's like you can read
my thoughts,' said Elvis, as again they sat
stalemated with two lone kings.
#84 - It Feels Tight As A Drum
Beckoning towards the zipline,
Kit grins and twangs it with an index finger.
'Come on!' he cooes, 'bowel-evacuating terror
is just excitement rebranded. True empowerment
means learning to override all the emotional, environmental
and intellectual cues screaming:'
he cups his hairless hands around his lips:
'"Attempt This And You'll Never Walk Without Callipers!"
This isn't about personal judgement -
this is about tightening the team.
Remember: when you "rationalise",
you use "rash anal lies". Go on, sport!'
He slaps my back as if pinning on a sign.
I grip the zipline, glance down
towards a distant lake of sharpened staves
and razor wire. Kit slaps me a second time,
I step off the platform
and now I'm screaming through treetops
I'm crying, I'm alive,
hurtling into the arms of my new family.
Kit grins and twangs it with an index finger.
'Come on!' he cooes, 'bowel-evacuating terror
is just excitement rebranded. True empowerment
means learning to override all the emotional, environmental
and intellectual cues screaming:'
he cups his hairless hands around his lips:
'"Attempt This And You'll Never Walk Without Callipers!"
This isn't about personal judgement -
this is about tightening the team.
Remember: when you "rationalise",
you use "rash anal lies". Go on, sport!'
He slaps my back as if pinning on a sign.
I grip the zipline, glance down
towards a distant lake of sharpened staves
and razor wire. Kit slaps me a second time,
I step off the platform
and now I'm screaming through treetops
I'm crying, I'm alive,
hurtling into the arms of my new family.
#83 - Okay, But There's A Tram Coming
Dutifully, Jack replicated his death
from his part in a production of the Pardoner's Tale,
which I had missed due to my escalating affair
with Death.
He clutched at his lapels, dug parentheses
into the skin over his collar bone
and howled up at the streetlamp
which, brilliantly, chose that moment to strobe;
his howl grew choked as he simulated
the poison's closing of his throat and he dropped
onto his knees against the snowy cobblestones,
going now cod-eyed and cod-gobbed
God, I thought, I can see why everyone
was making such a fuss about my missing this,
then, of course, with perfect fidelity
to his part, he wedged his boot toe
in the tracks. He tugged and yanked
until the tram grew big as God.
from his part in a production of the Pardoner's Tale,
which I had missed due to my escalating affair
with Death.
He clutched at his lapels, dug parentheses
into the skin over his collar bone
and howled up at the streetlamp
which, brilliantly, chose that moment to strobe;
his howl grew choked as he simulated
the poison's closing of his throat and he dropped
onto his knees against the snowy cobblestones,
going now cod-eyed and cod-gobbed
God, I thought, I can see why everyone
was making such a fuss about my missing this,
then, of course, with perfect fidelity
to his part, he wedged his boot toe
in the tracks. He tugged and yanked
until the tram grew big as God.
#82 - Playing In The Swamp
Those cosy, shaded days
we would thunder across dark logs
then whoop with mirth
when one of our number fell
to an alligator, its thrashing salmon
rise, the golf clap
of its jaws,
the way, after the death roll,
bubbles plopped lazily from its nostrils.
Once, we exhumed a tinker's corpse
almost perfectly preserved in a tar pit
and set him to sit upright on an old tea chest,
guarding our treehouse
with his charcoal skin
and braces.
we would thunder across dark logs
then whoop with mirth
when one of our number fell
to an alligator, its thrashing salmon
rise, the golf clap
of its jaws,
the way, after the death roll,
bubbles plopped lazily from its nostrils.
Once, we exhumed a tinker's corpse
almost perfectly preserved in a tar pit
and set him to sit upright on an old tea chest,
guarding our treehouse
with his charcoal skin
and braces.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)