Some self- review written at night
Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2002 2:06 am
Review.
One- thirty in the morning, wrecked at the Beach Of Wealth.
The Code Of Art is broken, the Sense Of Longing lost.
Dirty orange light slides above the worn- out oilcloth
Of my kitchen table where I myself have chained to.
I try to exorcize my synthetic bathos
By withdrawing sleep and pray to Decayed Poets.
Asking "Has a good writer to be a good lover too?"
I watch a solemn procession in the shape of plaster busts.
They all are gazing down from Artificial Wooden Shelves
Answering "Having a Muse or sucking Lemon Slices -
That is all the same." - Vulgarism wrapped
Into symbols, Mysteries Of Shallowness.
A sole green candle dies hidden in the depth
Of Poetry's used- up Shrine of Artificial Wood.
As the last smoke whirls up I inhale it like incense
And all disguises fall apart from me and one
By one they do arise and hide into the night;
Copulating with the dust of a thousand books.
They all have fled me like a leper, remaining nothing
But my brain in front of me drowned in a Flask of Alc,
Conserved till Kingdom Come. - But a cynical drunkard
Will only be read when he's already dead. Or a woman.
But the drunkard becomes gender- free. - That's
A plagiarism - Pray for me. - That either - I'm lost.
I am a Copyist. There Happens Nothing New
Under The Sun says Solomon - Do I really
Copy someone or is this we call The Course Of World,
Moving in circles around us, in Eternal Spins?
Maybe I am but a Chessman, maybe a Knight
Holding The Mighty Feather in both my trembling hands.
Fingers stained with ink and wax as I replace
That one molten candle with one of its little sisters
I bought in a Discount - Cheaper In A Dozen! -
And all great Neptune's ocean will not wash clean
My hands, rather they will the multitudinous seas
Incarnadine, making the Green One inky.
Lost 'twixt foreign meters and disfigured Symbolisms
I raise and leave my desk to repeat my Sheepish mantras
Again to Patient Papers: "No More Double Cursus
For The Living! It Limps Behind Reality!"
- But sells better. - Slave! Slave Of The Shelves!
One- thirty in the morning, wrecked at the Beach Of Wealth.
The Code Of Art is broken, the Sense Of Longing lost.
Dirty orange light slides above the worn- out oilcloth
Of my kitchen table where I myself have chained to.
I try to exorcize my synthetic bathos
By withdrawing sleep and pray to Decayed Poets.
Asking "Has a good writer to be a good lover too?"
I watch a solemn procession in the shape of plaster busts.
They all are gazing down from Artificial Wooden Shelves
Answering "Having a Muse or sucking Lemon Slices -
That is all the same." - Vulgarism wrapped
Into symbols, Mysteries Of Shallowness.
A sole green candle dies hidden in the depth
Of Poetry's used- up Shrine of Artificial Wood.
As the last smoke whirls up I inhale it like incense
And all disguises fall apart from me and one
By one they do arise and hide into the night;
Copulating with the dust of a thousand books.
They all have fled me like a leper, remaining nothing
But my brain in front of me drowned in a Flask of Alc,
Conserved till Kingdom Come. - But a cynical drunkard
Will only be read when he's already dead. Or a woman.
But the drunkard becomes gender- free. - That's
A plagiarism - Pray for me. - That either - I'm lost.
I am a Copyist. There Happens Nothing New
Under The Sun says Solomon - Do I really
Copy someone or is this we call The Course Of World,
Moving in circles around us, in Eternal Spins?
Maybe I am but a Chessman, maybe a Knight
Holding The Mighty Feather in both my trembling hands.
Fingers stained with ink and wax as I replace
That one molten candle with one of its little sisters
I bought in a Discount - Cheaper In A Dozen! -
And all great Neptune's ocean will not wash clean
My hands, rather they will the multitudinous seas
Incarnadine, making the Green One inky.
Lost 'twixt foreign meters and disfigured Symbolisms
I raise and leave my desk to repeat my Sheepish mantras
Again to Patient Papers: "No More Double Cursus
For The Living! It Limps Behind Reality!"
- But sells better. - Slave! Slave Of The Shelves!
