New Poems (2011)
New Poems
“. .
white isn’t sad or happy just white I keep telling it it’s white but white doesn’t listen it’s blind deaf it’s perfect and oh so slowly it becomes whiter philosopher’s stone this poem should be put to sleep before it starts to philosophize before it starts to cast about for compliments summoned to life in a forgetful moment attuned to words to glances it seeks deliverance from the philosopher’s stone passerby walk on don’t lift the stone under it a tiny white poem naked is turning... to ash [2002–2003] words words have been used up chewed up like gum by lovely young mouths have been turned into white balloons bubbles diminished by politicians they’re used for whitening teeth and for the rinsing out of mouths in my childhood words could be applied to a wound could be given to the one you loved now diminished wrapped in newspaper they still contaminate still reek they still hurt hidden in heads hidden in hearts hidden under the gowns of young women hidden in holy books they burst out they kill [2004] landslide we’ve been struck by a landslide of rocks stones pebbles you could say that the poets have stoned poetry to death with words only the stuttering Demosthenes made good use of pebbles turning them in his mouth till he bled he became one of the greatest orators in the world PS I too stumbled on a stone at the very start of my journey my old Guardian Angel the avalanche of angels brought about by inspired poets artists priests and American movie directors is infinitely more foolish than the one brought about by Romantic poets the products of the dream factory –the “holy wood”–are sugary white like the cotton candy young children adore my Guardian Angel who is 83 years old and remembers all my misdeeds flew to me in consternation and told me he was being pestered by salesmen pedophiles sodomites from commercial public and religious TV to endorse “angel’s milk”MoreLess
white isn’t sad or happy just white I keep telling it it’s white but white doesn’t listen it’s blind deaf it’s perfect and oh so slowly it becomes whiter philosopher’s stone this poem should be put to sleep before it starts to philosophize before it starts to cast about for compliments summoned to life in a forgetful moment attuned to words to glances it seeks deliverance from the philosopher’s stone passerby walk on don’t lift the stone under it a tiny white poem naked is turning... to ash [2002–2003] words words have been used up chewed up like gum by lovely young mouths have been turned into white balloons bubbles diminished by politicians they’re used for whitening teeth and for the rinsing out of mouths in my childhood words could be applied to a wound could be given to the one you loved now diminished wrapped in newspaper they still contaminate still reek they still hurt hidden in heads hidden in hearts hidden under the gowns of young women hidden in holy books they burst out they kill [2004] landslide we’ve been struck by a landslide of rocks stones pebbles you could say that the poets have stoned poetry to death with words only the stuttering Demosthenes made good use of pebbles turning them in his mouth till he bled he became one of the greatest orators in the world PS I too stumbled on a stone at the very start of my journey my old Guardian Angel the avalanche of angels brought about by inspired poets artists priests and American movie directors is infinitely more foolish than the one brought about by Romantic poets the products of the dream factory –the “holy wood”–are sugary white like the cotton candy young children adore my Guardian Angel who is 83 years old and remembers all my misdeeds flew to me in consternation and told me he was being pestered by salesmen pedophiles sodomites from commercial public and religious TV to endorse “angel’s milk”MoreLess
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