Raymond Farr
The Past Is a Voice Trapped Inside a Broken Radio
1.
We are grass
Like old poems
    & tinged with
The blood of how
Many hexed roosters,
Who is this man
Entering with
His dogs now? Who
Stops every crow
Every thrush
Every sparrow
Dead in their tracks?
I mean, what is
Occult if not how
He calls us
By our names?
2.
This
Lincoln
Town Car
Nobody
Ordered
Rolls up in
The yard
To take us
To our train
& playing
With the knobs
We can feel
The voices still
Trapped inside
The Town Car’s
Broken radio
But the train
Is leaving
The depot
Without us—
Just now
The ghost of
An empty
Track
Standing Here Drunk at the Intersection of Natchez & Simple
                                                                           Minerva rides the image of a dolphin with sexual hands & smiles like a fantasy girl—Hello!—in the yellow ink well of the sun/in the black ink well of the rain.
                                                                         & I’m standing here drunk at the intersection of Natchez & Simple. & I’m convinced I’m holding the stumps of two bloody feet, the shoes still on them. & that the cure is disintegration & not the revolving door we call Phenomenon.
                                                                                                         & so I flatten perspective. I write the strange mackerel of death, the laughing Dutch Masters of despair & I’m sitting like Amsterdam in a ten minute window.
Intelligent Spaghetti
As If It Were the Space Age We Lived In
The dog
Was
Shaggy
& loved
Being
Innocent
& while
Earthmen
Hit
Golf balls
Over
The bleak
Lunar
Horizon
A camera
Blinked
Back at
The blue face
Of the earth
& the dog—
Snout-deep
In a box
Of plastic
Cosmic
Straws
Some
With
Pink
Stars
(No shit!)
Some with
Blue
Rockets—
Moved
Unerringly
If a bit
Self-
Consciously—
This
Ancient
Dark
Fleck
In its
Eyes
Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012), sic transit—“g” (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012, 2016), Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav (Blue & Yellow Dog 2015), Angst of the Large Transparent Man (Blue & Yellow Dog 2017), & more recently, A Deep & Abiding Frequency (Blue & Yellow Dog 2017). Raymond is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog, http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com & The Helios Mss, theheliosmss.blogspot.com
previous page     contents     next page
1.
We are grass
Like old poems
    & tinged with
The blood of how
Many hexed roosters,
Who is this man
Entering with
His dogs now? Who
Stops every crow
Every thrush
Every sparrow
Dead in their tracks?
I mean, what is
Occult if not how
He calls us
By our names?
2.
This
Lincoln
Town Car
Nobody
Ordered
Rolls up in
The yard
To take us
To our train
& playing
With the knobs
We can feel
The voices still
Trapped inside
The Town Car’s
Broken radio
But the train
Is leaving
The depot
Without us—
Just now
The ghost of
An empty
Track
                                                                           Minerva rides the image of a dolphin with sexual hands & smiles like a fantasy girl—Hello!—in the yellow ink well of the sun/in the black ink well of the rain.
                                                                         & I’m standing here drunk at the intersection of Natchez & Simple. & I’m convinced I’m holding the stumps of two bloody feet, the shoes still on them. & that the cure is disintegration & not the revolving door we call Phenomenon.
                                                                                                         & so I flatten perspective. I write the strange mackerel of death, the laughing Dutch Masters of despair & I’m sitting like Amsterdam in a ten minute window.
America, you left me here Paraphrased like something else I was cooking A big pot full of intelligent spaghetti & the poem got up & walked out— A waiting taxi I threw a handful of glass flowers Against the wall, America & they stuck there & now gravity has how many Thick accents? & I wander like a stone pilgrim Lonely with my own gravity— Sheaf to sheaf of wheat broken-waved & wild—& no one sleeps But the sleeping dogs sleep like masters & so I talk all night, Furtively, thru a hole in this glass Security partition—& a voice says, Don’t come crying to me, I’m not Your daddy! & the lovers have stopped Breathing on the stairs tonight— A pile of humid flesh, America
The dog
Was
Shaggy
& loved
Being
Innocent
& while
Earthmen
Hit
Golf balls
Over
The bleak
Lunar
Horizon
A camera
Blinked
Back at
The blue face
Of the earth
& the dog—
Snout-deep
In a box
Of plastic
Cosmic
Straws
Some
With
Pink
Stars
(No shit!)
Some with
Blue
Rockets—
Moved
Unerringly
If a bit
Self-
Consciously—
This
Ancient
Dark
Fleck
In its
Eyes
Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012), sic transit—“g” (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012, 2016), Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav (Blue & Yellow Dog 2015), Angst of the Large Transparent Man (Blue & Yellow Dog 2017), & more recently, A Deep & Abiding Frequency (Blue & Yellow Dog 2017). Raymond is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog, http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com & The Helios Mss, theheliosmss.blogspot.com
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home