ROCKPILE on the road / 8

Michael Rothenberg


ANGELS SLEEP IN PEACE!

                                                        Angels sleep in peace!
Devils stay past midnight 

            listen to Paganini
                             Pretenders, King Of America, Heartless Liars

Have you heard them playing 8-ball while reading Ziggy’s Dream?

                               Did it matter when the Army closed 
                     imagination’s terrifying halls to Strategists of Art?

No, it doesn’t make sense to matter
No explanation needed for transfer of funds 

                                      from one pocket to another

For those Charlie Chaplins entering data, 
                                 boiling nouvelle shoe leather soup

Supping on Valentine’s Desires and Therapeutic seasonings
                                             It makes sense

                                             Angels sleep in peace!
                  Devils stay past insomnia 

                                               Possum scud across the roof

Listening to accusations of the trite and trivial 
                    from Fashion Fascists

Reveling in accusations of the ideal & naïve 

                                  soaked in gross dependencies & mother

             Have you heard them in their drunken dance 
                                             on granite floors, 

                                                              In the rhythm of Sisyphus?

 Would it matter if Superman 
         disappeared in his glacial fortress and forgot about Lois Lane?

No, it doesn’t make sense to matter
No explanation is needed for the transfer of sperm 

                                               from one pocket to another

For Cryogenic Automatons taking surveys & grants, 
                                                               boiling eclectic dialectics

Gorging on Cornish hens & Sweet & Low

            It makes sense

                         Angels sleep in peace!
                                                    Devils stay past gunshot  

                                    & sweat soaked orgies
                                    & tender whisperings

Have you made up your mind, 

                               in those white silk gowns,
                                               hair loose on freckled shoulder,

             licking your own nipples,
                               raising your naked ass to four impossible walls? 

That I should be persuaded by repressed exhibitions of genitalia 
Does it matter when crisis rings 

        the death of a poet & saw-grass fires kiss his naked guilt?

No, it didn’t add up to verse, or wake the angels to salve 
                                                                         the clawing innocent

No, it doesn’t make sense to matter longer

                                  No explanation needed for the transfer 
                                                                      of one fish from one 

Amazon to one aquarium 
                        on a bookshelf on one hill above Pacific shoreline

For Game Hunters tracking down genuine 
                                         tears & renderings, boiling conceptual logic

Mounting vanquished language of invisible 
               jaguars & hornless rhinos

       On walls…

                     It makes sense

                     For those lazy drifters beneath the stars 


                                                            February 21, 1998

Michael Rothenberg performs ANGELS SLEEP IN PEACE!
with Blodie and members of The Dirty Dozen Brass Band in New Orleans.

ROCKPILE on the road (cont'd)

 
 
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