exquisite corpse in a French train...and then the rain

The salamander lost its tale. so went on an adventure to find
a new one.
And then we went to see the giraffes
They make the most beautiful silence ever heard
By the human herd.
A heard noise quivers with shivers...leaving slivers in their ears tiny trapped
Memories in their skin
Peeling that orange I gave you will only
Make your fingers yellow and your soul sour
While eating that fig that she gave you could
Save you from their power.
Showered with lame excuses like limp and stumpy limbed mine victims
A maimed love for lost...
Faking a photo and framing it too
Would make you believe in spirits and goo.
I declare forcery here some sort of sorcery hand made
Braided and released on the generic popular nation
Formed in a lead based alchemy a disaster for you and me.
"One should not suppose more things than it is absolutely necessary
For one to live, breathe and drink."
That's the advice the old oma gave her last
I will always remember as a gem of the past...
Last incased in a ring to be held...sort of in your palm
At all times...pressed...huh.Bleep...bing bing. Bop...
Sorrow floats.
Mousey mousey mousey boy
As sick in his head as a dead wooden toy
A forty year old boy. A teenager with a boner coy.
Lourdes ...smack filled syringes...price chopper...
A tactile sentimental styrofoam flesh wound...
Pitch black and not a sound in sight
She told me she knows how it feels to be bright
That she taught herself perfect Chinese
That she can fake playing the trombone
Should she please
Like rotten milk from a cow's disease.

as she was stuffing that pathetic travel cushion in and barely closing the backpack he was getting more and more worked up with rage. why can't we just go? what the heck got into you? dead, blocked, her throat too knotted in, incapable of any reply.

no, actually she remembers a heavy dark moist word like lead climbing inside her body, from the bile up. she couldn't stop it by clenching her teeth, so the word managed to come out clearly: SOULLESS.

next second, shoes were flying out the door and onto the staircase, bags as if by magic already outside the apartment. angry face uttering loud slow-motioned words and pointing.

alright, damn, way to go! bags a bit too heavy, the light outside a bit too bright.
that initial moment of pure bafflement. now what? crossing the bridge into the city, a wet small piece of paper read: WE ARE THE ENGINEERS OF OUR OWN PERCEPTION

loveless-pennyless

wake up beside you- see you sleeping like with a death wish. sleep for ages, sleep to ignore and to forget, sleep to torture.
then, baby, i love you like a handful of small change...nothing less

nature poetry

THE CALL OF THE WILD

The heavy old man in his bed at night
Hears the Coyote singing
in the back meadow.
All the years he ranched and mined and logged.
A Catholic.
A native Californian.
and the Coyotes howl in his
Eightieth year.
He will call the Government
Trapper
Who uses iron leg-traps on Coyotes,
Tomorrow.
My sons will lose this
Music they have just started
To love.

***

The ex acid-heads from the cities
Converted to Guru or Swami,
Do penance with shiny
Dopey eyes, and quit eating meat.
In the forests of North America,
The land of Coyote and Eagle,
They dream of India, of
forever blissful sexless highs.
And sleep in oil-heated
Geodesic domes, that
Were stuck like warts
in the woods.

And the Coyote singing
is shut away
for they fear
the call
of the wild.

And they sold their virgin cedar trees,
the tallest trees in miles,
To a logger
Who told them,

”Trees are full of bugs.”

***


The Government finally decided
To wage the war all-out. Defeat
is Un-American.
And they took to the air,
Their women beside them
in bouffant hairdos
putting nail polish on the
gunship cannon-buttons.
And they never came down,
for they found,
the ground
is pro-Communist. And dirty.
And the insects side with the Viet Cong.

So they bomb and they bomb
Day after day, across the planet
blinding sparrows
breaking the ear-drums of owls
splintering trunks of cherries
twining and looping
deer intestines
in the shaken, dusty, rocks.

All these Americans up in special cities in the sky
Dumping poisons and explosives
Across Asia first,
And next North America,

A war against earth.
When it’s done there’ll be
no place

A Coyote could hide

envoy

I would like to say
Coyote is forever
Inside you.
But it’s not true.

(from Gary Snyder's 1975 Pulitzer poetry book "Turtle Island" )

the house of sleep

spend some enchanting hours with "The House of Sleep", one of Jonathan Coe's acclaimed books......I basically had to...it had so much to interest me...sleep (a latest passion)...and confusions. and it was so emotionally recommended by V.
but... but, it was overwhelming circular- even if twisted and broken in past and present, dream and reality...all comes together at the end, where "soul-mates never die".
actually my slight disillusion should be blamed on V making me search for a perfect resemblance of a girl he is in love with and the character of Sarah; neither could I identify him with the boy helplessly attached to her, Robert.

what i appreciate about it is the wonderful non-pretentious style and playful dialog, as well as downplaying that emotional key. I also found somebody I'd like to be like- at least for a while-a character who during his college years sleeps 14 h a day and uses the rest to watch films. later, he becomes a film critic and an insomniac who can make it through a 134 films cine-marathon. unfortunately being that cool only lands him in a profound coma, maybe the privilege of replaying all the images stashed in his memory.

a poem at the end of the book brings loose threads in a ball of hope.

Somniloquy

Your gravity, your grace have turned a tide
In me, no lunar power can reverse;
But in your narcoleptic eyes I spied
A slightlessness tonight: or something worse,
A disregard that made me feel unmanned.
Meanwhile, insomniac, I catch my breath
To think I saw my future traced in sand
One afternoon 'as still, as carved, as death',
And pray for an oblivion so deep
It ends in transformation. Only dawn
Can save me, flood this haunted house of sleep
With light, and drown the ghosts that nightly warn:
Another lifetime is the least you'll need, to trace
The guarded secrets of her gravity, her grace.

a professional review that doesn't doze you off you can find here