the future will smell like leaves allowed to moulder
Ian M
Posts: 123
A spider distracted me as I was setting my alarm
So I shushed him into a corner,
Not noticing the small red dot of light in the corner of the display
When I came back to it, satisfied. I was pleased that luck had stayed my hand at exactly the right time:
7:02
P.M. instead of A.M.!!
I was late for work the next morning
By an hour and a half
Untouchable
The Problem and none Other lies with me
When to the poles of abstraction I navigate
Barren, shrinking desert at each extremity
Whether the North cap of the Self inviolate
Or the South an ephemeral bedrock in the unchartable ether
There are two sides to every coin, they say
But then the financial world never lent itself to sphericular thought
Tender the skin of the handsome explorer made chaste;
Laid to waste by his own epic of engrossed absorption
I'm sick of the Voyage now
I have stopped making significant discoveries
And everything is beginning to look the same
I feel it is time now to choose my last horizon
Before turning back to more mature tempers.
To face the Other from whose steady eyes I have been in flight;
To lie instead with my Solution
Toothless Wisdom
toothless and no gore
feeling as though I can’t swallow
letting ruby-rust saliva drip
from my mouth’s corner
‘deep silt &
unstable ground’
beyond the fence
into weeded wilderness
where plastic bags roam,
unretrieved in the wind
women enjoying the squirm of the powerless
under their knowledgeable spell
things haven’t changed so much:
the medicine men still dwell
at the edge of the town
and we still go to them
in our childlike trust
believing without question that
they know (from experience) what is best
for us and our ailments
and we part unthinking
with whatever they say
will take the trouble away
‘dog waste only’
to meet a more organic fate,
no doubt,
than the human waste
we force ourselves not to come
to terms with, paying others
instead to take it from our sense
forthwith and shovel it under
the earth’s fragile carpet
a toothless pigeon struts the
tarmac’d path camouflaged
sits on a tree stump in confidance
to share her lonely secret
Japan is only an island
Japan is only an island
As far as she is kind to my mistress
She was in my dream last night
Unknowing of my protection, seeking no redress
I hope she finds comfort in the shadow of tall buildings,
In the haunt of ghost hounds who howl their hunger
In lonely discomfort, in masterless distress
Self Portrait
Shuddering with recognition
as the breath is wrung in to your body
you shed your deceitful clothing,
shrug off your arbitrary borders
to see a moving life on the canvas of cold,
a face in the painted wind.
So I shushed him into a corner,
Not noticing the small red dot of light in the corner of the display
When I came back to it, satisfied. I was pleased that luck had stayed my hand at exactly the right time:
7:02
P.M. instead of A.M.!!
I was late for work the next morning
By an hour and a half
Untouchable
The Problem and none Other lies with me
When to the poles of abstraction I navigate
Barren, shrinking desert at each extremity
Whether the North cap of the Self inviolate
Or the South an ephemeral bedrock in the unchartable ether
There are two sides to every coin, they say
But then the financial world never lent itself to sphericular thought
Tender the skin of the handsome explorer made chaste;
Laid to waste by his own epic of engrossed absorption
I'm sick of the Voyage now
I have stopped making significant discoveries
And everything is beginning to look the same
I feel it is time now to choose my last horizon
Before turning back to more mature tempers.
To face the Other from whose steady eyes I have been in flight;
To lie instead with my Solution
Toothless Wisdom
toothless and no gore
feeling as though I can’t swallow
letting ruby-rust saliva drip
from my mouth’s corner
‘deep silt &
unstable ground’
beyond the fence
into weeded wilderness
where plastic bags roam,
unretrieved in the wind
women enjoying the squirm of the powerless
under their knowledgeable spell
things haven’t changed so much:
the medicine men still dwell
at the edge of the town
and we still go to them
in our childlike trust
believing without question that
they know (from experience) what is best
for us and our ailments
and we part unthinking
with whatever they say
will take the trouble away
‘dog waste only’
to meet a more organic fate,
no doubt,
than the human waste
we force ourselves not to come
to terms with, paying others
instead to take it from our sense
forthwith and shovel it under
the earth’s fragile carpet
a toothless pigeon struts the
tarmac’d path camouflaged
sits on a tree stump in confidance
to share her lonely secret
Japan is only an island
Japan is only an island
As far as she is kind to my mistress
She was in my dream last night
Unknowing of my protection, seeking no redress
I hope she finds comfort in the shadow of tall buildings,
In the haunt of ghost hounds who howl their hunger
In lonely discomfort, in masterless distress
Self Portrait
Shuddering with recognition
as the breath is wrung in to your body
you shed your deceitful clothing,
shrug off your arbitrary borders
to see a moving life on the canvas of cold,
a face in the painted wind.
0