Archive for July, 1991

Vermin…Spread

Posted: July 29, 1991 in Poetry
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I listen to Psychic TV
as I go to sleep
subconscious acid-house
to keep me through the next day

sway hypnotized gorilla
your job: attract opposite gender
item to evaluate, correct?
no.lies.thieves.hypocrites:
ministry tells me so.
exhausted by effort of truth
examination of self
through drug treatment
I quote findings:
“vermin…spread”

“it’s lovely!”

Egg Drop

Posted: July 27, 1991 in Poetry
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a man
dropped the egg
he was carrying
on the sidewalk,
and it broke.
the yolk was green.
he knelt down
to look closer at it,
and it ate him.
“Ha ha ha!” it lurked
back into its
broken shell.

Saturday Morning

Posted: July 23, 1991 in Poetry
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big fat monkeys
in pajamas
eating cereal and watching
the dinosaurs run around
on television.
it is Saturday morning.
I grin behind my pen.

I, Ape

Posted: July 16, 1991 in Poetry
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I, ape, eat mushrooms
in a forest of multicolored furniture
all from the room of a girl
I knew.
the carpety grass is foaming upwards.
shoes play hide and seek when I
sneak around in the closet.
they shut it always behind them.
find them cavorting and wagging their tongues.
I live in the closet.
I read old travel books and sigh.
funny little bugs comb my hair for me.
the shoes galumph like tiny dragons.
my rat escaped.

I, ape, drink cappuccino
alone under the pillars of marbled ice cream,
whittling leaves to stick to their sides with thumbtacks.
sorry.
I sit quietly under a quilt made
of Stars by Mom long long ago that is too small.
it’s fun to push around
on the tiled floors
on my butt, pretending to have no legs.
the leaves turn purple with the sunset paintset.
everything is quiet and
you can see your reflection in everything.

I, ape, peer through the closet door slats
but can only see the carpet that changes color.
sometimes I can’t fly my kite for the roof.
then,
I move the stuffed animals
and make them nod and wave.
there was a lake, big and pretty and I was scared
to throw rocks into it.
there’s a story behind all these shelves.
I wish I had some pudding.
just to sit and eat pudding;
lick the back of the spoon
in this forest
of chairs.

I, ape, wear a green felt hat for no reason,
puzzled by the paintings in the empty museum.
I search all the video games for quarters.
nobody’s home.
dusting the lampshades is fun;
it makes me sneeze and then I dance in the mucous-mist.
I sing myself to sleep in the queer half-light
of the green stone moon
poking my head in holes in the ground.
I play a silly flute
on the sand left by the retreating tide,
sometimes dragging a stick for miles,
then falling asleep
on the carpet.

I, ape, remember all this,
dreamed before I was built of gristle
and hair, wound with a turnkey and set on the linoleum
to live.
my nest in the rocks was burnt
when I returned with some candy I’d found,
so I ate it in the wet soot.
I’ve smoke in my eyes.
I’ve loved you for so long;
now I can fly
and I leave all this hair and skin
and my shoes
behind.

little red blanket

Posted: July 15, 1991 in Poetry
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bless me
little red blanket,
my precious birth-toy.
cherished,
worn by love
cape, warmth, friend,
comfort, guard
shoulder.
bless me,
I love you
little red blanket.

closet

Posted: July 15, 1991 in Poetry
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I have nothing to do so I do nothing.
I have nothing to say so I say nothing.
My day was cold and rosy like a wax museum.
Mistakes seem to multiply my shadow
Into monsters clutching broken shards of mirrors.
Weeds grow about the architecture of my projects.
I say nothing I do nothing I say or do…
The beatings are screaming dully now
Through the calluses thick and faraway;
Sounds I slowly turn my head past,
Rotating through the jelly halls
Of pedestalled imagination snowy with sleep.
Somewhere in my closet there is a chest
That I have lost and a little boy with no mouth
Is quietly picking up all the shiny pieces
That the shadows bring to him and putting them away.
Button-eyed animals have gathered
From smoky trash heaps to watch him
As they always have with their own bright faith,
Chrysalises for creatures clearer than I.
The alarm is reverberating somewhere, muffled
By the furs and pelts of sacrifices to unworthy idols.
Beautiful skins of fantastic creatures.
Tears fall from eyes which have not flinched for years;
Ever since I was a little boy with no mouth.

Happy Happy Ape

Posted: July 14, 1991 in Poetry
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happy happy ape
swing around
dance for you
lopey long arms flail
the air his home
hairy long arms
dance dance
happy ape.