Friday, August 6, 2010

Written in the Middle of the Night to the Moon, and You

Our salad thingie died in the refrigerator

Our lavendar died in the yard

Just think: even pissing on it could have saved it

You died in my dreams I think
This is all so emblematic
So I think that means poetry
Because poetry wears more emblems than Michael Jackson
And when does language not try for emblematic?
It did in Mesopotamia and it does this afternoon
Poets are mostly here to Emblematize
The human spirit's pokiness and other Famous Problems
Do you want to be a Famous Problem too?

Here we are all bobbing along
Schlepping like buoys or Joseph Beuys
Thousands of years later
I think we are all agreed
Art still has the loveliest refrigerator
Some of the sneaker animals sneak inside
It's like a food race or something
Get your picture taken next to the asparagus
Or more likely the Ashbery Yoplait

I don't know

All these bodies just dying to get locked inside

The Human Salad Versus the Inhuman Salad's
One Big Goddamn War, let me tell you that!
Not sure if it's a big deal

SCRATCH AND SNIFF HERE

Did you smell my canniness?
I sure hope you smelled or smelt my canniness
Because I worked for days on my canniness
Just like tap steps when I was eight
Oh Dear
I say like Roddy McDowell did as a gay ape

I do not understand the craftiest animal
Following the Moon the same as Twitter
The Moon Twittered long before Twitter
And probably will twitter long after

You are supposed to leave tracks

The Moon doesn't seem to "get it"

O do not follow Her, Beloveds
The Moon tries to lose the earth
She probably just wants a lavendar bath and herself
Again and again we are funny with each other

Will we never get past the tragic funniness?

I watch bats fly over my motel room
Where I have fled to escape poetry
And I know it's wrong to apply pronouns to motels
But sometimes I can't help it
O the poetry bats are working it tonight!
Look: They are crafty with the Moon
The Moon's narcissism
Gets inside all our bodies
The bats are beleagured like poetry leagues
Poetry leagues battered with longing
O I am so beleagured with longing

That I get these Lorelei cramps some days

The Moon does horrible things
Horrible things to my body and my Soul
To poets and lovers and their mostly arrogant longing
Like I must admit
I was thinking about you last night
And I saw the Moon do something weird
She made a wrong turn in the sky!
An illegal turn! Probably she figured
Nobody was watching her but I was
And I say Call Her on that

Love, the Sentencer and the Sentenced

I am talking to You now

Make the Moon be sane (or seem at least)
I say to You who preside
Over our Queer Morganatic Marriage

Send the Moon to traffic school

Teach her the the One Path through the Darkness
Has already been chosen for all time

By those much wiser and nastier than she

Oh, she will never learn
Without threat or erotic subterfuge
The Moon is hopeless
She will schlep her Own Way through night forever
Make her take out her spiral noteback
And pretend to care
How she drives like a maniac
Through all our minds on nights impossible

Nights impossible as almost possible men

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