... in a poem,
a spasm
hook, twitching in gut
thought finally freed from
previous rot...............
Eyes disjoint, brain
cubed and diced
Detailed, discerned
Sharpened by narrowing
Disappointment, dull
and stupid
Hand and eye made to strain
straining make
words crawl on page
ta-da ta-da tiddle-de-dum
tu blague encore
their knees are worn
line and phrase corrupt
Spandflex rhythmic inflations
neurologically honed in mind
waxed and waned
--omatic gain
monstrous circadian design
Bit and worried, the muscles
that guide the silver tip
the hand and eye strain to rise
words raised
expelled like pips |
Polite,
contrived
I seek an abstract
cubic form
preceding all images
before all messages
a form so pure
so purely pure
the great Poets in
their great
Poets' Heaven
fall down and
weep for the utterance
of itta-da ta-da
ta-dum ta-dum
Gods, up in
your porcelain heavens
You can't condone these
varnishments, can you?
Don't be suckers.
Send a bolt to
straighten out
these
surrept
ambitions
In
the Rift Valley: Approach -
© 2001 G. Turner
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