| POEMS: 140309 - March 14th, 2009 |
http://groups.google.com |
| Robert Morpheal, Bob Ezergailis, Morphealism (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2009/03/14 23:58 |
100309A
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There is nothing that cannot be disproved.
The exception being anything
that you choose to make into a supreme deity.
Pick something, anything,
and stick to it, unswerving from the collision
crashing, impaled on that point and on emptiness.
Imagine that that feels like a purer ecstacy,
as you let it carve a path into the heart of anything,
becoming a little poison dart that paralyzes.
Everything rushes out of that infinity,
and then your brightly colored balloon is in rapid descent
until a tattered rubber rag rests on the ground.
A street sweeper accelerates its wire brushes,
gathering up that tattered bit of membrane,
tearing into it and removing the indecency.
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140309B
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The political envoy exploded
into a sudden burst of Lotus petals.
They fell the way dead pigeons fall
stopping suddenly in the sky,
then tumbling down onto the streets,
becoming tea leaves read by blind psychics.
The entire forest of trees had been shredded,
and a huge new bureaucracy created
for the purpose of finding meaning
by piecing together random phrases,
that they searched for among the shreds.
Their leader had created several volumes.
An outlaw preacher fired his shotgun,
aiming it at long black rows of target Bibles.
Their covers bled small droplets of red blood
from wherever the shot had nailed them.
The blood was gathered into small vials
for sale at roadside market stalls.
Yellow flags were unfurled in the wind,
yellow flowers nodded in assent,
and large yellow dogs pissed bright yellow piss
along all the latest territorial lines.
There were yellow cowards, yellow perils,
yellow warnings, and yellow clowns.
Various multiple part forms filled out
and submitted with large gambling debts,
Fortune continues her devious spin,
and every second another dies on the wheel.
The corpses are hauled away
and secretly ground into sausage meat.
The public crematorium is overcrowded today.
Everyone has to take a number and wait.
The long lines stretch into the lobby,
and many have been dead for many years,
having died long before finding their way there.
The attendants provide garlands and prayers.
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140309C
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The one division
shoots, wounds, and kills
the other division.
This precise advance,
of one division against another,
comprises a society.
You are given your rank,
and placed within your group,
knowing you will be killed.
Watching the new recruits
practicing their verbal marksmanship,
you learn to expect a fatal shot.
It is only a matter of time,
before the armor rusts sufficiently,
and something penetrates through it.
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140309D
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The rumors of their party
were hardly heard among the news
of politics and other similar lies.
The private conversations
were about who got invited
and who did not, but never about why.
Everyone is uncomfortable
about everyone else,
until given their own uniform.
I want to interrogate you
about everything you failed to tell me,
before I tear off all your clothes.
You are so very beautiful
I want to see you naked,
so that I can refuse you more completely.
It would be a very cold room,
with a mattress, a rope and a chair.
I would be the light in your eyes.
If that fails to make you mine,
I have other ways to break into
the sickest corners of your mind.
The gathering declares us initiated
into the highest secrets of culture,
after witnessing the perfect ritual.
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140309E
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What you continued to call art
was always a beautiful calm,
undisturbing culture,
for the simple minded.
You then gave the secret gesture,
and had my eyes removed,
from within the mannequin space
of our freeze and thaw anticipations.
With my eyes gone,
I found I could no longer hear anything,
and made a quick assumption
that your tongue had been cut out.
It no longer mattered what was true,
realizing I could write with the fluid
that dripped from your open mouth,
smearing expletives onto the floor.
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140309F
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You wanted beauty or something more,
and I wanted adoration, maybe even love.
We had never really had anything we wanted,
and always made do with much less than that.
You know that that is not so very different
from the thwarted desires felt by many of the gods.
I looked at you through the pornographic pages
of local newspapers and popular news magazines.
You looked back at me through the perversions
of oceans of ideas and mountains of theory.
You found it difficult to imagine
how all of it would bring us only a little warmth.
I told you there is something that sometimes happens
in the bargain between the crucible and the flame.
At least in that light we might really know
something of what we were always looking for.
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