I don’t remember writing this, except for a line here and there. And it wasn’t some late night production. I wrote it in my head on the way to work, scribbled it out on paper and then put it on the computer at my desk. But it went into a folder on october 23rd and [...]
Frail mosaics
of wooded hillsides
crumbling tiles
Autumnal clowns
in precarious quilts
Like shivering coins
of copper and vermilion
the crude drain in a pair of pants
snow squalls at the window
women dressed like children
indignant courting of filthy thoughts
A Question for Dreams
why do you bring the dead
and write yourself
in love’s light
why her still and
empty face
the blue eyes and
tangled nylon hair
she doesn’t cry ouch
at the knots
dad wants to know
where he is
i didn’t tell him we threw
the videos out
Holidays in the Sun
Mind and heart in revolt
I trade this rain for feedback
these branches are broken guitars
and the lavender mist
smoke drifting in
from battlefields
the smell of mowed grass
covers sulfur and formaldehyde
Holidays in the Sun
–the bombs haven’t gone away
and I’m still waiting
the call is loud
I can’t breathe
sitting in this chair
a plucked academic chicken
swords and words confused
Idea takes [...]
The Girl in the White T Shirt
Jack Spicer drank himself to death
Olson drank himself to death, Lowell and Bishop,
Berryman and Thomas drank themselves to death
It was fashionable to drink and poetry
Was not fashionable and so they drank
To be famous and because the pain of alienation
Was too great they drank but now
It is fashionable to be [...]
I’ve always worked on Maggie’s farm. I’ve always hoped and dreamed there was a way out but Maggie’s farm has grown from one end of the universe to the other . Maggie’s farm has flattened the earth. You can’t walk out of it. There is no edge or beyond.
“I try so hard to be just [...]
Here’s a good poem for a bleak day, by Yeats, at the end of his life. Some poets you admire and some you love. Milton and Wordsworth I admire. Coleridge and Yeats I love.
A Stick of Incense
Whence did all that fury come,
From empty tomb or Virgin womb?
St Joseph thought the world would melt
But liked the way [...]
Le Ventre de Ma Mere: Blaise Cendrars
My Mother’s Belly
It was my first residence
It was quite round
Often I imagine
What I must have been like…
My feet on your heart mama
My knees tight against your liver
My hand grasping the canal
That ended at your belly
My back twisted into a spiral
My ears filled my eyes empty
Tightly curled up
My head almost [...]
the things that you wanted
are in the bag
grapes and clementines
and a 59 cent comb
(there was a full jar
and I could have gotten 2)
when I feel this way
(your head on a pillow of snow
the remote control near
your spotted hand)
I can’t do more
than write a few notes
and leave them on the table
at the top of the stairs
counting [...]
contact: jon@lastbender.com