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Mumblings / Poetry, Early 2023 Like mentioned on other other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh) NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions
Divine and Conquer
Under oppressive drivel
I am trying to think and stay clear
Keeping independent and upright
Alive and kicking
Someone is trying to teach me something
A low hanging lesson
Staring me right in the face
Clutching an empty martini in glass in the correct hand
I brush it aside
Under ornate party favours
With beck and call art gallery memories
Stuffed into the trunk of an exploding automobile
Down the street from a hideous magazine house
Covered in vines and suspicion taken from across the street
Beside a tepid and wilting stop sign
Giving up its ghost for the sake of the pace of the intersection
I drink up misplaced applause
And carry it out to map of the world
Screaming and pining for a dose of inspiration
And a chance encounter with a tectonic plate
I hold my gaze like an Arthurian legend
Strong and true and out of its element
The nations are clamouring for my benign attention
But I’d rather float on dreams of divine and conquer
Flat Eric
Fighting fire with flat eric
Making a point behind the desk
With all the thrills of a thundering repeat
The crossed fingers come on soft
The people of the throat cede their time
To the last person on the dark side of the street
Holding something up against the wall
Better to keep it cloaked in possibilities
And hope the bending lies never meet
A whiff of too much charity
Dreck and fission fall right down
The sense of purpose pheromones has to reek
Replete with discounted mercy
All hail the nobody police
The murder of signature wit is complete
Forget the patterns on the wall and floor
The routines can’t be held against you
It’s just a romantic dangling of the educated clique
Like a doctor in a blender
A nurse off her nightingale
Going straight up dental covered in a bloody sheet
I have lived a thousand deaths
I have lived a thousands deaths
And I drink your tears for breakfast
A creature that smiles brighter than the light
In fact if truth be told the sun is my shit and the stars my sweat
I open my eyes each morning and that is when you all begin to live
Dog of the sky lord of the dirt governor of the in between
I make your decisions
No words of praise fall on my ears
It’s all glorious noise I can keep in my back pocket
I can open you all up like a can of gin soaked worms
Piling out of the tin into the real evening air
I crush the very names of things
Your thoughts are privy to my divine whims
The walls made of brick crumble with a stretch a sigh a dirty little look
A stupid little tune
A well anticipated dream
A fond fractured wish
An orchestra of odds
Coming up and down
With a symphony of pleasure
Dancing into your head
Where
Actually no this was all a bit of oversight taken a bit over the steep
edge
I’m going to get a glass of water now my head hurts
Allegiance to the Slide Ruler
allegiance to the slide ruler
and all that ran along it
to tumble off its end and into the abyss
like a 5.8 dive with a hint too much splash
With a dumbing realization
Against a finger wagging backdrop
Forcing open the squealing lids of old and dusty secrets
Where the bones of the family skeleton come to be split like rails
I beat my hearts for your old mistakes
The change comes in torn pockets
The
stains be stories from trips to the counter and countless floors
Tired of this runaround and ragged shit
So give me destiny post haste
You cannot convince me of this proprietary position
And how it’s tied to the ground with reasonable rocks
Open and closed case rot
Just can’t get enough of that loving caress that shapes the slow burn
Don’t even know how bad I got it when I get it
These are the ranges they all fall between
A bristling to the tapes of delay and ticker
A soft march to a hard as nails drum
It sounds to me like you’re campaigning against the weakest nightmares
Pushing around the paper thin frightening
While scratching true hellhounds behind the ears in deaf and dumb alleys
I don’t believe you when you look outside
Flinging words into our possibly manicured garden
As a pleasant aircraft screams overhead
Lured by promises of off and on duty freedoms
There is a pressing of the two sides against the corners of my skull
And with it comes the silly persecutions that I cut up and use as
bookmarks for the manuals that I stack to get high enough to climb out the
corner window
It can’t help but be morning
I’m not fighting against it
There’s that sound again
Buck up, you snarling tunnel
You don’t even remember that your backroom is filled with light The Silence That Pools on the Argument Floor The silence that pools on the argument floor A place where resentment is sold on a stick Where a sleeping pill is the prime escape hatch And a denial of guilt is the overplayed trick Drawing excuses in the dust with your finger Letting the flaws howl down the dark halls A game so simple you hold it close like a breath And refuse to answer when old sensibility calls Unlikely bedfellows strangled in the sheets Eulogies that comes off awfully condescending You’ve no time to appear at the sun’s last wake Falling off lines you won’t stop amending Picking at the pieces of coiled and great success Trying too hard for the steady lukewarm sighs Stripping out the heart of the real patty patty sound You get stuck out front with your back room eyes You take out the ruler and use it with customer care A black line comparison supporting fun and profit Don’t burn your enemies build new walls with them The best feeling in the world if you could just get off it Like a Slug Sloth Like a slug sloth Like a freezing moth on a bulb Like a yawning bleary eyed earth trying to spin A slow dog trying to catch its elongated tail Like coughing dead skin Like stretching into tomorrow Like falling over the wet instruction rags All was quiet on the human front Distributing quickly is its dark mirror effects at work and the soul is cut up and served to the poor but they know not what they eat and their tongues lose the beat and the hands gets too cloudy all day And within the steaming weeds I cut through to get back home the arms and legs of the blessed fall before me as sacred traps and offerings that I can only tarry so long over because where is the light if it is not my home my end table my stack of magazines in the bathroom beside the porcelain bowl Dizzy with obviousness and drunk with something that’s not quite power because I can’t see the ladder and I dare not ask for directions to the people who surround me with small smiles and cracking charms because I’m late enough as it is Like a spineless sandstorm Like a dull red click of the last button Like a crack of diamond teeth against the stiletto You are stuck staring at the yesterday party ceiling Like piercing grey molasses Like dying yeast in a stone oven Like cowering in the warmth of the end times Exhausted water creeping up the beach for the last time A rotting carcass getting a tan in the sun Seething Up the Shores I lie like buttons on a coat Keeping you together and the cold where it belongs This collection of moments can’t be much more Than ideas in the minds of those who had too much time on the burning hands Who never got enough from the demanding fields Who pushed aside the chance for common slumber Who laughed at those who gave their hours to jokes and pranks Who scolded the men orbiting the myth of crackling science Who saw gravestones when they gazed upon church spires It’s a wonder that everything that’s happened to us hasn’t left us for dead You say But of course that’s exactly what it’s done You’ll have to excuse us There’s been a contemptible mistake Seething up the shores Creating balance by folding up the narrow necks for all to sieve Celebrating assumption and the wealth of the shortest terms How were you going to succeed on all this accursed muck? There must be a wall in all of this The head was dizzier and it stuck out like broken thumbs I came with an open mind and left with a hole in my face That can’t be the dirt you know and love That drip drip dripping of ruined anecdotes Spoiled by containment of the shortcuts Touching the very yellow specks that come across our feet It’s okay you were never supposed to know That final moment of fear lasts a lifetime You come and play in my silence kit There is little chance of the mind coming together on such a Sunday I am under ghost Harvesting like a wizard machine Youth full of fire extinguished by the loan ranger No one is to know our improvisational skills Better they are misinformed over our ability to know it all when it we must Cause and effect left to their own devices Which they built in their garage during the immeasurably momentary downtimes And were meant to smooth over the long and winding bumps we taught our foundations of knowledge upon
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