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Poet, Artist and co-owner of Lasting Images Photography

Sunday, October 16, 2011

It Ought to be Perfectly Clear

I'm looking around wondering if I'm in hell

I can feel words rubbing shoulders,
others enjambed like widows and orphans

Too many notes, Mozart!
You'll have to excuse me
I've been up for 28 hours
Maybe I need more coffee
I've just been remembering my childhood skies
Images tumble--
a carpet of brilliant stars,
moon swinging like a pendulum,
the glow of city lights 
a rainbow I once saw in Myrtle Beach,
old man at the bus stop,
a mud puddle, 
guinea pigs and turtles,
robots clomping along in concrete sandals
I’m in deep weeds here
I fear it can't get simpler and remain This Poem 
And now the stars are pouring from a Dutch oven,
the moon's glow is excessive and offensive
Eyes stabbed by a pollution of light
Sudden severe zoom-in:
children scabbing food off people like sea gulls - 
restless and needy

But they seem too superior for that somehow
I’ve had a glass of wine 
and I find this to be absolutely hysterical
Laughter is neurosis springing leaks
Looking back I can't believe what I’ve written
A few jagged lines
front row seats to a catastrophic sideshow
an awful muddle of modifiers
What rubbish lurks in the empty spaces of my brain?
Why do I wish in general poetry made more sense?
The imaginative reader 
is a figment of the imagination
But I believe in trolls, kid, 
and they know where you live

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