Here are three poems that came out of a writing retreat I went on in September. So far the only poems I’ve done this year, which is a lot less than last year, but I guess the Muse has had other plans for me this year. Far be it from me to argue with Her, you never win that one.
All three emerged from writing exercises that use words and phrases to jumpstart your creativity. The first two are pretty much flights of fancy that I’ve left as they originally came out. The third had something more that it wanted to say, so I kept working with it and revised it a few times.
Ted from the Bureau of Assholes
about the geology of the wolf.
Thus nobody can absolve
that nappy-headed bastard cuttlefish
who masturbates to thoughts of Buchenwald
as if his acid copper parody
of an unblinking vigil of
chameleon maiden trollops
the pristine entrails
of stellar divinities.
Better he had met
the hogweed accordion of the abortionist
or his mother had used a diaphragm
of marigolds and tapers
to arbitrate the okra omen
of his father’s
sparrow song seed husks.
That was when I knew I had to write this
If you wander far enough
you will come to it:
the great city
at the edge of forever.
(Standing up to get a hot dog
someone spills mustard all over me.
I was just on the edge,
the way it always happens.
Now my hand hurts
and the opportunity is fled.)
Gone into the land beyond sleep
the land in which the only light
comes from Celestia.
city on the edge of forever,
her ruins marked only by
a wild exultation
brought down into stony fragments
of dream and myth.
(It must be very hard to understand.
Just start with the telephone
and a meal in silence.
You will know that when love calls
you do, in fact, have to go.)
That was when I knew
I had to write this last will and testament
I Think It Came In Through the Window
The egress through which I let it in
To do any real harm:
Just a scotch on the windowsill
Gleaming gold in ice-cube plastic glass,
Volumes of poetry scattered on the comforter,
Their words a swarm of mosquitoes
Into a nodding acquaintance
In the darkness I ordered another.
One shaky morning,
I found I had ordered
A box of maladies
That daily unpacked thirsty demands,
Slaughtered the mosquitoes,
And left the comforter
With dead words
In stale sweat.