“when I say we sometimes I mean I and the voices I’ve heard or the voices I’m searching for. and sometimes when I say us, you can join in. and sometimes when I say you, I can’t imagine who I’m thinking of. and sometimes when I say they, it’s about me. and sometimes when they don’t like it, I revert back to I and start again.”
Read the rest here: http://inferiorplanets.com/issue1/2016/02/10/garcia/
What is happening
is the job
of hyper-real
suffering
poetry
of natural
and experiment(al) following
method
through idea into its truth
and history
being created
as it breathes
as its fog of being makes misty
eyes and ears
sensing
a reality to be beyond
recording but ready for
transmission
“ . . . irony cannot break the wall
. . . building around . . . poem . . . ” (Harold Norse)
Fermented phemes have grown culture
through aging
fragrance stronger still and stronger to come
but hasn’t yet.
Treasures of the night
have never been found
on ice.
* * *
To the streets filled up on sour
and acidic
quelled on probiotics
Bacteria grown against
God the virus.
* * *
Sewer grates leave menthol and regular packs
green and red
at the curve
of the corner
Back up Coke and Pepsi cans,
and the logos
all the sigils stamped
in coffee cup,
burger wrappers, empty chips, sweet still sleeping
in candy’s former sleeve.
But water
and what passes for water
where concrete, brick
and asphalt meet
slips through
with even
the most fickle poem.
* * *
“ . . . Does
Maybe not matter when maybe’s a landscape of untethered
starlight?” (Rowan Ricardo Phillips)
* * *
It’s all enjambment
subterranean
All disjoint up up above
as together unbounded
configure
and point
Possibly
supposedly
spray paint that won’t come loose
from walls
and monuments
here
where upturns
is a route
able to navigate
for food.
* * *
Words are black
and have running
in their blood
Drapetomania is the suffering
of text enslaved
to the page.
* * *
Captivity lets faith, hope
and charity
disappear
with visions of Zion
and all lands promised
to the passed over.
* * *
This world cannot be taken personally
* * *
Ingestion
does not make
digesting come
does not confirm
nutrients extracted
to destinations
supposed.
Swallowed in sips
language has no
bottom of cup
So bloats
So bursts
So hyponatremia
of thoughts
first attacked, assaulted
then accepted.
* * *
Where can’t walls be built?
Gates, fences,
neighbors cutting off stanza from stanza
Rooms
lose sight
of one another
Disjoint occurs
nonsense teems
begins plans
against 5 or perhaps 6
senses –
sentimental, sensual,
sensible (?).
Springtime further blossoms
nature’s lines of defense,
borders,
infringements.
Winter drops guard
lets jokes
slip through –
pushes them on blizzard
dreams
to bury
and give cabin fever
to homesick
broken lines
stranded.
* * *
Just and just
only
not too much
* * *
Having lost vowels
over centuries
landlocked
in clay and sand
Consciousness lost name
and rose as ash –
ashen rose
burnt out
deity
spoken through brush
and to Jeanne D’Arc
and in caves
In places beyond and between opposite openings
side 1
side 2
left channel right channel
doors
in need of visitors’
whispers / speaks / tolds / talks / yells /screams
Auditory.
How the machina comes
is on ears first
– save for Saul.
* * *
Life was begun by forgetting
this entrance.
Since then,
gifts -if received-
are misconstrued
And grow into curses
cultivated.
* * *
Sensitive:
1) to be easily crestfallen by outside forces upon the ego.
Sensitve:
2) to be empathetic to the crestfallen outside of the ego.
* * *
“. . . silence crowns the song.” (Ursula K. LeGuin)
What sentiment is so equally shared
valley
and
precipice
?
Absolute has no relation to
actual
tether’s hold is not another
way of saying
relation- empathy returned
the book of resemblances
was not written in sympathetic
sounds
vowels harmonize given the opportunity
clusters also
are broken
when chance is had
but guess again for stars draw long and short
of clouds in distances varied from
cones and needles
pine.
Everyday has been a
Shoot first mistake
Enough so to
Throw in the towel.
Tasting hell burning down heaven.
Groove cut for later questions
Footmarks of tongues
In the house
(S)worn to secrecy
Haven’t had a good reality in years
That much is known
* * *
Worth/Reverse
Work/When
There was/Research
It/Forgets
About it – sound a
S/word – conversion
Dead to the 4G world
Airplane mode
Rubbing elbows in stereo
But there is a chasm
filled with scripts
or screenplays.
Somewhere there’s a rusty
RCA Victor mike
And a Yamaha amp
with peculiar buzz
of mosquito secrets
And no one has been able
to fill the ad.
Openings and closings delayed
with the same repartee of one of these
shows.
* * *
Can’t both stare in the mirror
in the same moment.
Two wholly wholes
halfway blended
Connected – a point just beyond
the brain.
Craniums fused into one –
crammed
with lyrics
of cowboy songs.
A multi-appended chimera
facing two ways
into compromise
And when one goes
I’ll have to carry
that load
too.
String arrangements.
And all will pass
into the indivisible love
Andre Breton
Remember that -oh so long
ago when we were
ships whose sails
were not made
that day hour by
hour
And ‘oh these things happen’
But now, the winged
octopus will no longer
guide this —!
For life is not always a cabaret
Sometimes it’s just pitching
coffee cups at the trash
after consuming endless days
of creamy middles
and no wafers
in sight.
* *
Or incognito
as the signs
we’re waiting
to receive
while the unspoken words
are put out to sea
And what a shanty they’ll make
And the scurvy they’ll cure
And the doldrums they’ll surpass
And oh the cargo hulls
they’ll begin to fill
So soon they’ll
throw unnecessary passengers overboard.
(written 2010)
Habits travel out from the heart
deep and stiff as canyon walls
Further forcing
another Golem
into being.
Furious sleep takes reign
over narcoleptic beast.
Still,
Sometimes even a twig
is enough to hide behind
And so
In turn,
secrets and ennui
creep back
hidden in harmony’s
quick refrain.
Scythes dropped for oars
And the cranes
put to halt
for the nets,
and spinning spools –
unwinding down
trenches, through
straights
breaking with ebb
and crest.
Heart on course
for leaving behind
every last
and rebuilt
bridge.
Happy holidays to all.
Go pick up (or rather download) a copy of
Enter the After-Garde today for free at amazon.com.
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