Poetry Scrap

I remember the parable of the games
Alongside parabolic ascendance of humanity
Consider how games are passed through
Generations like layers of cheesecloth
Cloth on cloth on cloth and our basework
Running through them like spilled red wine

Poetry Scrap

Jen Soals and I devour a five dollar snapper
Over a thirty dollar bottle of Napa Pinot
The snapper caught on a line
Cleaned by expert old crusty in Vietnam market
Next to the bananas, basil, mint in my basket
Rang up fifteen dollars total, half the price
Of that wine; I cooked that fish
Roasted in a pan with veggies and broth
potatoes, peppers, garlic, thyme
sat in our kitchen in the fading light
talking Artemis and Wordsworth
picking at pieces of fish flesh, me
devouring eggy brains, pebble eyeballs
cheek meat and tail meat, all sustenance
for us sentient beings, this little fish who
gave a life so we could indulge over
a thirty dollar bottle of Pinot Noir.

Nowity

Notes from walk down to the Coaster station on a sweltering morning –

If everything is relative then we must end these vacuumed discussions! For example, who gives a shit if in a primitive situation the strong would eat the meek and that colors, ethnicities and language would provide the impetus for slaughter? We live in the would of today and we should discuss matters from this datum, exactly here and now, this year, this month, this week, this day, this hour, this minute, this second, ad reductum.

While we’re abandoning modes of thought, lets also chuck the predilection to discount what our society has built. In making a list of the things that we need, why include what we already have? Bottled water and good wine, sure, but we have these things! And will continue to have them as long as our capitalist system continues, for there will always be a strong demand for clean water and good vin. Lets instead focus locally and again from the datum of now, which applied to space equals Here, doesn’t it?

Herity and nowity. The twin legged, trunkless megaloths of our society Ozymandias. Let our inscription read Today! And be done with it. The Shelleys of the future ought to have a ball with that one.

Poetry Scrap

In the bookshop are all the discarded fictions
Of a thousand writers; a thousand stories
That someone thought so well of
They ground them through their mills

Up above the ghetto bird swirls a bowl
Whose base is covered by a hundred laconic cops

There’s an old lady at the bus stop that
Reminds me of how someone I knew will
“reminiscence is more powerful than replication”

Poetry Scrap

A fennel stalk carried the coal
That brought down knowledge from the Gods to men.
What does that mean?
Could it mean that something in fennel or in
The idea of fennel
Helped us bridge the gap between animal and sentient being?

I am munching on a stalk while
Considering these matters
Letting the anisette oils
Warm my mouth as a pleasant post-meal

Could a distinct flavor have kicked off thinking
Or the concept of thinking? What if something in the flavor
Which was so different from so many other foods
Caused us to say “ok
this is good, but we don’t want this all the time
No, this is a complement – “
And from the idea of complement,
A desirable that wasn’t desired all the time
Came the idea
of ideas, of me and you, night and day
Syllables connected, phraseology, meaning
“Hi how are you, what shall we do today?”

Poetry Scrap

The charlotte’s web summer spiders are back
Woven webs between the power lines; they get me
Thinking about how tiny my block is, how many blocks
There are in a world, how many spiders, babies, innocents;
Tell me how many there are! Don’t just leave me here
Sitting like an idiot or a saint

Poetry Scrap

Let me hold your hand while you hit it against the counter

i want to listen!
let me get you stoned
sit in grass deep in the park
on a syrup saturday and blast
images and ideas, teach and tell
i want to hear your girlhood
sensibilites and memorygasms of
snapshots taken through ocular lens –
a barren home, the plains of lower valley
born on the highway, hardarm kids
wrastlin with tradition, life’s axioms –
i want to be present when your crack
your brainshell and
(kittenish)
lap up expellum
spilling from the jagged seams