Melancholy picked me up in a serial killers car, a violent rambling damp machine that hurt.
-- I was acquitted though I did it she whispered building a lizard and dressing it in glitter.
-- It was in the shadows where those strange hours dripped all dull and feathery, as if
burdened with the long and lonely mournings of an animal. Heaven will wait, she coughed,
and on she went saying that her day was spent swimming in concrete, voice thickened with
murder, eyes like the sky over the slate roofs, the bruises on my hands from when I crushed
her strawhat all those eons ago. I remember that plastic daffodil, how it fell with slap
reminding me of the lapping, the blood in the gutters, the sea in the summer, the thud of
orange in a lunchbox as children play hopscotch in the schoolyard. Midnight, whitewash,
naked abandon. Arch of insanity likened to that of the bended knee upon which I beg,
or am praying.
Damn! She slammed on the brakes: Further evidence of insignificance I'll be wearing
their ribbons to the grave! I will not allow truth to be told to me by those with a motive,
or, I will not believe a rose is beautiful or, that beauty like love can be believed objectively.
She yawned. Her mouth is where I hung my soul an ode in a round widow. I imagine my
pillow, my junksick pillow withdrawing for her perfume in the night.
-- Of nothing, I hear her say -- or for whatever it shall be, for now it is morning. I worship the
bricks that hold it high. She climbs above, smiling like a lint brush in the ruins of a burnt
out grocery store. She reads my eyes, lips as they quiver, tragic omen, confetti in the mud
she laughs. Love rest breathe inhale fertility it shall soon be spring in the southern hemisphere,
lets murder some wildlife, take the edge off but don't indulge.
A fluttering bulb in an empty chemist is all that I remember, fuzzy radios that spoke of how
to lure the guardian from the gate, late night nesting serpents, an apple with a worm, the first!
With disbelief and fragile shivers that wrapped around her tiny frame she fell, blood warm in the
early dawn. That bitch had me in a fugue for years. I said to the Judge:- and yesterday venality
moved me to cleave and flay wounds upon the flesh of all celestial. I left her there with milk and
avocados to tide her body by, for my lord, is it not pharonic to live knowing that you must die.
A Stranger tells of Helen
A stranger in a doorway waiting,
his obvious involvement in the cruelties of life evident
lent me a cigarette, coughed gently and said:
--I left her, my Helen, in the Troy of my bare rented room.
Was so lonely on the bus today that I cried.
Through the window, steamed by breathing,
upon which I had written -- Give me an urban mercy from the
tongue of a silver trumpet o all ye heartless!
I saw, sitting like Buddha on a war monument,
a smiling child plucking a pigeon.
Son, there are thunders in a thousand parts of me
and I am living in dread of the rain. Or another way to
explain this would be, there are winged amphibious creatures
sculpting tears urns in the pale amphitheater of my heart.
And when there is nothing left, various scraps of marble,
the devils lexicon, dried fruit, nerves entwined in a fitful ballet,
only then will I allow myself to love again.
The streets this evening ambient and glandular.
A gnome with a broken hat stands on the edge of the garden.
There are also the long cries of someone being tortured on the
television from the little shed beyond the hedge.
I cannot drag myself to the dance.
My heart is hobbled, capacity to love bashed with a hammer,
naked on cool new sheets.
Linguistics is the opiate of the Intelligentsia
In memory of and dedicated to Nicholas Zurbrugg
Set out to fix anxiety with an f sharp piano wire and a bottle of
table salt. As yet no linguist has set upon my text. I am a slave to
the mastery of my art. In subjection I am headless and hollow;
the implicit, the bachelor I may have become -- with an axe.
No philosophic innuendo intended.
I have heard elsewhere that they are executing several treasonous
swans on the parliament lawn this afternoon. Attending, the
Governor General and some abused poodles he refuses to admit
exist. I will be there dancing along the promenade with my champagne
glass full of whisky.
It's a timid old world my friends and those from then are shaking
in their clown shoes.
road trips reviews politics renaissances credits/bios submissions links archives e-mail