Floccinaucinihilipilification*

1

Come let’s try
To describe,
Come let’s try,
Do come!
A feeling really hard to explain:
The Human Orgasm.



2

A swell of brown.
A dirt mound.
A Tree, Tall,
His Majesty,
His beard, a tire swing,
And we swung there carelessly:
Pendulums on a wooden clock!
It seemed as if we’d never stop
The Summer slowly pass us by.

We never mourned the grey;
The wide world's torn sky,
The thunder flash, the big splash,
Her green lap, a cool pool;
We sailed the Earth in tire tubes,
And the dread rains passed us by.

And in the Winter a crow died,
Maggots writhed around its eye,
Popping in and out of it
Smelling like the death
Of winters past that passed us by
As if we’d stumbled where their bodies lie.

We warmed some stray pups with our hands
Then buried them in flower beds;
Death was just a circumstance,
A consequence,
A small word, it was absurd!
And who in truth cares for a bird?
Or a dog?
We jogged at dawn in winter’s fog;

It’s never there where it seems
Like finish lines, like happy dreams.
The hill is gone, the Tree was doomed,
But in the spring, the flowers bloomed
And I sat before the flower bed
And wondered if they’d howl the dead.
I whistled and made some chirping sounds
Then I got bored and left the grounds.



* The act of appraising something 'worthless'.

Grue

Grue

Man I’m going to the capsules,
To fall asleep a while.
Red space-suit, it’s been so hard,
For far too long,
For eight years straight
I’ve missed grue Earth
(Where now her seas are grey).
The fisheye stares out at black space
Where spiral galaxies burn all night
And light plays 'cross the windowpane
While I in my spaceship ... rush on.
No seasons change. No one decays.
The ice outside, once frozen, stays;
And I move on.
Some god has yawned,
And deep inside, inertia lies
Infinite, and tea and saucers fly.
The waiter stands unseen in white
And violins fret their golden marches
Steadily through the corbelled arches,
Heart in hand, I look around,
In outer space where there’s no sound,
No song, no hymn, no beaten gong,
But for one dull continuous hum,
Which could be me or else-one-some.
The sails hang windless, star-scratched, torn.
Somewhere a sun has burnt the sky
Where something’s just not quite alright.
Man I’m going to sleep a while,
Perchance to dream of Antichthon.


Arbitrary

Words have come together;
Huddled tight in groups they seem.
To be in search of warmth,
In search of meanings that they’ve lost,
Words have clung together, stuck
Thicker than mud, more dense
Than the viscosity of darkness
Without interstitial spaces,
Without the threat of breath, or life or death
Words have intermeshed and morphed
And the Universe is poetry
The Sun is dwarfed by the Moon
And the Sky and the Sea
In letters three summed up
The Ocean is five. And so is Alive.
And Dead is one less. And Born is the same.
When Big is smaller than Small
Words have come together
To fuck with your brain



OtherWise

in my old age, I sat to teach
and saw a girl within the crowd,
that at the time had gathered round
to hear me preach in my old voice.
i saw her face among the class
and though I could but barely see,
she came, I saw, she conquered me.
my lesson fell apart mid stream
but I was not ashamed at all
for I did not feel young again
my heart beat fast and loose, and thin
my skin upon my hands, my chin,
it hung with age. I knew it all.
my bad knee softly smiled at me.