Aki Salmela


Three poems from Word in Progress


Ode to Ern Malley

The umbel of markings on the carved time
entangles staircase of rococo evening
introverted obelisk of the pond-lilies
                           incestuous.
And consolations!
Palms! and trespassing
transposed version blowing this lily 1495,
I a gibbet in curious

Social Process. Sky
he who — white Adonai:
to themselves.

Assert: the caterpillar.



Taj Mahal

I just sat there, not smoking. It was more dustier
       yesterday,
now it is over. The crumpled way
to the Taj creeps over
the meaning, no personality. The night Spirits
of the engineer didn’t want their way.
Pass out the tattered name.

I didn’t cross Taj Mahal looks. I needs it very badly.
Taj Mahal looks a blank man. I
Had but it didn’t want no meaning, not so very badly
- a blank man.

I picked the glass up head sideways
with a half smile; just
sat, not smoking, and he needs it
in the studio of fogged. The minutes
he had finished:
you gave him a Singapore with a name.

“I put the first swallow in an occational drinker,
a basket case.” San Francisco Bay,the minutes at the bottom folded with dust, he needs
a very blank man. I had a beer and the bottom
of a folded duster. Away folded
the engineer time he has nodded.

Pass the beard, she fogged.
The ashtray didn’t want a half smile,
and it needs it. A man does sigh
again was I in it, I leaned looking.
She smelled the way.
She smelled good to eat. I of I was
fingers to the Bay
of the rosy-fingered dawn from yesterday’s calendar
crumpled.

Clark, who could, went by a toptoe guy
who sat in a cleaner, not meaning.

He picked the glass Spirits. And the engineer dusted
away, folded with Francisco Bay.
The rosy-fingered dawn is full of thinking.
I was the beer. Far across San
Francisco Bay. Then he picked flyblown bar.
A blank man. The studio sighed:
it’s very evil thinking. I was a smile;
I had no face. Even engineer
wants a drink. Even thinking.
“I a very bald man
hardly nodded out like a basket. “

The Taj Mahal in his beer. Far wakes folded with the
     dust
who could pass lips. Now what
does this meaning? Went across
San Francisco Bay for a beer. These windows:
more I clean, the sunnier.
Personality? Hardly. This Taj Mahal

looks to pass some meaning, no personality.
You gave him the waste basket with meaning,
no personality to remember it. The more
and just the dust. Tattered extras of a brighter world.
I didn’t want dawn full of mashed-out Americans.
Fogged this half smile; no personality, hardly a man.
I had an occational drinker to their lips
of mashed-out American night. Just the right
flyblown face. Singapore with a Starbucks.

The Taj Mahal at the bottom of flyblown bar. More
shook his head, tattered extras picked up the engineer
who nodded in his beard:
a rosy-fingered dawn.




Courage

Cage said something. Its nature
parameters more language.
It’s about the courage
but the fact is that nobody is Cagean again.
Cage said something, it highlights the formal
       properties of language
when I started using the work naked.
The good is in ideas. Any form
is poured into such work It’s poured into such
a radical nature. Fluid and the good radical.
Radical and interesting. I just gave you more language
glued to type. Fluid and will. I started using
such a xerox nature. It’s very complicated. My method
very complicated. My the piece, it’s complicated. My
       gave you more
started using the aspects of the piece, it’s very
Cagean again.

(Word in Progress was published as an e-chap by Tuli&Savu Nihil in 2004 & is available for downloading here)

 
 
 
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