Thursday, 30 June 2011

Be finer, beautiful

All of you pass through here but noisily.
All of you are concentric circles, like I read mindfully in a book.
The poorer the noise, the louder

I spent my time in church today.
The pew was a row boat
The quiet was a lake.

But such things can't last.
Chatter drifts down from the rafters
And now I am riding the train.

There is a struggle to be heard in families.
this is the kind of noise that will last all the way to Brooklyn
the boy in blue moves to get away.

-pause now for electronics

As I told you last time, I read that writing on the wall.
It shone like new information but wasn't.

All of you pass through here but noisily
At the restaurants, you don't know which memes to use with the menu
Weighty ones or sparkly ones? Well bless you for trying. I wish you would stop

I am sorry I really do love you
We had a special bond the minute we met
I liked the scarf you wore and your oversized glasses

I want you to stop giving me health advice
and information about your generation. Instead
We can sing a few songs and get spit into the night

This too shall pass. Secret to happiness
The only time I dare is when I'm about to stop.

-pause now for the secondary theme

I like to watch the birds fly off these tall buildings
Because they are notes on a stave in the sky
What is metaphor? I watch contrapuntally, in contra intuition.

In my heart, I can't help but tie up loose ends
even when it's useless. Even when there is just
Reluctant white space, the advice was to use the sustain

The last time the city burned, it took two weeks
Before the first one of us finally laughed.
And for the bells and birds to come curiously back

I wish to turn my back on all this
But there is no real way to talk about birds
I remember the party where we tried

I have learned to love cities again
And so will shortly turn to salt.

On the surface nowhere military uniform nostalgia pale green sea
Through the silent head another silent head silences the silent head increasingly
Birds peck at the withdrawn appearance & poor appetite skin grey & stars
A generalised agitation privileged vision a dark shape moving through no night
Inviting citizens to denounce potential corpses all the clerks of London Town
When she turns her head to face the light & flame on the pale gold sea
Some fuckwit breakfast news
When she turns her head away from the night into the dark the no night
A blade in the wrong hand awkwardly smoking frost & rain
On the surface little life forms eat breakfast news
Through the silent orchestra the sound of a great flood & terror
Birds peck at the monument its tears coalescing to form the slogan nostalgia
A generalised war & total peace & cutting my throat to make my cloth
Inviting citizens to explore the history of war crimes in amnesia & rain
When she turns her head away from the pale grey sea & dark & flame
Some fuckwit democrat with scorpions for nostrils
When she turns her head away from the dark red sea & makes up a name for herself or madness
A blade in the wrong hand smoking with a sick smile therein

They jumped the banker & bundled him into the back of the car. He asked if they’d go away with him into another country. I had a bad wound on my back which had gone untreated for several weeks. Nothing she said made her feel any less silent. They ordered the banker out of the car & into a lockup backing on to a railway. A child kicking a football up against a wall again & again & they asked the banker if he was a fascist & he said yes I am a fascist. & they put the politician back into the car & drove out of town. & he asked if they would go away with him into another country. & they killed him & dumped his body in the pale green sea. & the sun went down red&gold & the sun came up gold&red & the day was wonderful & the sea was wonderful & calm & stormy. & they drove back to town & died there. & hope is a four letter word. & the child kicked the football over the wall & went away into another country. Doctors call for alcohol ads to be banned.

“we press
hands together, as scars of circling bone
where silence is also prohibited, funded
guns surround the city banks’ networks
of compulsory metaphors speaking aloud”
Sean Bonney ‘after Rimbaud’:

& so will shortly turn to salt ...

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