Wednesday, April 30, 2008

today we assume ourselves old-style before this
people pattern argues itself fitted, a little more
imposed, small numbers of young persons now dad
and you locked him up for twenty years, a little more

wrong than the empty housewife and the masses of
themselves filled in a world that is little more
than a detail of hurt, established from the outside
for the wrong forms now i fitted myself a mass so

christen the bastard jack dad, i decided to make
a person work, the headshrinker is a quack, art is
not a mystery or science, anyone who'd wear their
hair like that besdies kewpie on a stick or someone

who hasn't experienced it wouldn't understand
the words, a superb manual for the brain-mind bulletin
that talks about the richness, the introduction of
a new kind of society and i spat dead-letter words

in all the print i read under the fat, i felt the sense
i form, a whole felt sense that is unclear, focusing its
felt sense on a session movement, the inner act of
a body shift, a felt shift touching with feelings,

the golden honey of clock time i taste and pause
at the openings, fished it up and spat it out of
my pocket and what makes this poignant is bigger
than myself as it's going to the honey sack again.



Ryan W. said...

I am tasting it again for the very first time.

Ryan W. said...

I wrote that before I read the poem.

Ryan W. said...

even tho it sounds like it's following up on the last stanza, or summarizing or something otherwise nodding