Tag Archives: journey
sublime oranges
he measured the room
by volume of the dark
with light subtracted,
moving as ulysses did in hades
he would find breakfast on the sand,
ocean not so far away
as high tides where relevant,
rituals began
ideas stencilled on embryonic dna
created this path and outlook,
sometimes he felt it was only he
he revolving and the earth had stopped,
it was not a crisis of meaning
only an imbalance on his poetics,
even in the dark
he could place a pen nib and write
about placing kisses on her
naked arcitecture,
a finding in deep silence
what she had really meant
under that cloak of shuddering mysticism
pen scratched paper
it would be ten pages,
before images faltered and pen halted,
ignoring wine that had already spilled on
table top,
peeled an orange
segmented aspects from which to
derive a special calm,
her bewitching had been an interference
but now choking fumes cleared
and he was at last
truly free
Tilt Shift Photography
Wanderings with Chris, Alex, Elisabeth……..Cumbria
regions of desertion
ashfoot, ashfoot
under moonball capsules of starlight
take two tubes of the sea
and with hipster tone,
squeeze upon my subterranean pinnacle
handcuffed to a midnight train
brakeman with burning lantern
punched me to nothing more,
take two more boxes to burn
smoke and steam
play it cool
sinister strapped luggage fell
to which i became lashed
tunnel -bone condemnation
under white haired
fawns feet
voices from regions unknown
lifted me away
to churches with horns
and fed capsules of better things
hopping away the vision
pierced bone
i was no longer
the bum
with sorry leg
dada at dVerse poets an interesting cut up as i used Gregory Corso In the Tunnel Bone of Cambridge which is below
IN THE TUNNEL-BONE OF CAMBRIDGE
1
In spite of voices-
Cambridge and all its regions
Its horned churches with fawns’ feet
Its white-haired young
and ashfoot legions-
I decided to spend the night
But that hipster-tone of my vision agent
Decided to reconcile his sound with the sea leaving me flat
North of the Charles
So now I’m stuck here-—
a subterranean
lashed to a pinnacle
2
I don’t know the better things that people know
All I know is the deserter condemned me to black-
He said: Gregory, here’s two boxes of night one tube of moon
And twenty capsules of starlight, go an’ have a ball-
He left and the creep took all my Gerry Mulligan records with him
3
But he didn’t cut out right then
I saw him hopping
On Brattle street today-
he’s got a bum leg
on his way to the tunnel-bone
He made like he didn’t see me
He was trying to play it cool
4
Wild in the station-bone
Strapped in a luggage vision-bone
made sinister by old lessons of motion
The time-tablebone said: Black
Handcuffed to a minister
Released in a padded diesel
The brakeman punched my back: Destination, black
Out the window I could see my vision agent
hopping along the platform
swinging a burning-lantern-bone like mad
All aboard, he laughed, all aboard
Far into the tunnel-bone I put my ear to the ear
of the minister–and I could hear
the steel say to the steam
and the steam to the roar: a black ahead
A black ahead a black and nothing more.
illustration 9
ants loud enough
close to his head,
reprieve of summer cool
as he lay under his cart
pushed for close to a mile
finding geography
awkward to place
despite being his city once,
his mind a squoze larvae
thoughts brief as a snakes hiss,
irritable tongue of weeds,
lying still
close to impossible,
underpass old concrete walls
tagged by youth
more used to shooting than talking
overhead cars heat and horses,
smells nasal reverberations
he would feel quieter
if at the bottom of a lake
where on it’s silted bed
with fishes as companions
devouring algae from his closed eyes,
heat would be gone
and his mind would make sense,
the moon did not bring night rain,
eventually he stood
rocking on heels
than began to walk
this time he would find the start
of his journey
Fiat 500 Giuseppe Riccobaldi (1936)
Ben Howling & Yolanda Ramke- Cargo (2013)
David Foster Wallace – This is Water pt 1
Concrete Cadence
step off the train of thought
instant rain brushed eyelids
memories liquefied by time
cold clinging to fabric
the ride was over,
and without wings
bought with an angels gentleness
which he did not possess
flight too out of the question,
light lifted clouds on
bright shield shoulders
the past puddled about feet,
feet that avoided snare
of grasping brambles
that emerge through concrete
dust rose choking,
run the only option
flesh scraped into sores
to be picked later,
blue filled air
no unbalance steady pace
dropping back to a walk
as it became difficult
air thickened,
the one first deserves
to be blessed,
he so slow fell
to knees exhausted,
tender eyes closed
beneath folds of elliptic flesh,
found in his heart
the place he should of been
engulfed by gasps
of what had been prepared