myth like mystery
the myth is dead holes into my skin
my skein of wind my broken earth
my sunken hearth
and this heap this sacred mass of
things too many
too much too smart
too vulgar
this consumption
smothering blankets
stifling stories of the cold naked straw
deserting frozen-fingered children
playing foul fairies
miss the myth miss the tree
tell tell tell the tale of
infinite life
of loss and eternal blood
and I took three fishes from *Darwin' s nightmare
rode the night' s hammering void and the dark mare
and I took a fish from Magritte
s/ he' s rising to the sky
and I shook the past in Athos
tore time apart
I walked
around the pit
around the myth
in blind alleys
falling
sunsquare
in the world's prisons
darts
through the tomb
it does
*It refers to Hubert Sauper' s documentary film Darwin' s Nightmare. You can watch it on Youtube as well as Marie monique Robin' s The World according to Monsanto. I posted a story about it in Vivre libre.
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trips
Poetrytalking about trips don't trip don't move don't groove sitting in street poverty such cross nailing you down in the tomb of lost paradise eating at your brain your eyes your infinite holes piercing the guts of well-fed bourgeoisie never gave you...
