Axe and animal, all able
but bleeding by blunt barbarisms
creep cowering cunningly, craggily cancelled:
death does dutiful debts, defers
even evening’s edges. Eleven eagles
fly furiously. Four foxes, furred,
gorgeously groomed, grow grandiose, groan
however hard. Headstrong hedonists, hairy
islanders in Italy, idiot inmates,
jeer Jewish jugglers, judicious Jainists,
Kantian killers, kowtowing krazy kat
lawyers, lesbian ladies, lowborn, lamenting,
mad mothers made masculine, mammals
no nereids nuzzle, not nymphs
or oracles, only on oceans
pretending. Passengers plumb plangent prows,
quote quaint quintessences, quarreling, queezy,
religious reformers return. Russian rabbis,
some sinister, sample smoked salmons.
upload unnatural utterances. Useless utopians
vilify violent videos, volatile, vain
with whatever webmails we waken:
x-rays, xerography, xanadus, xenophobes x-ed.
Yet you yearn, youthful yammerers,
zygotes zonked zigzagging, zealfully zapped.
c. 1978/2008
[A portion of this poem was recovered, along with numerous others, for a volume of Uncollected Poems to be published by Mark Weiss and Junction Press. The lines in italics were subsequently added.]
3 comments:
Very surreal -
Lionel Ziprin has a brilliant poem along these lines from the 1950s (it appears in his "Almost All Lies Are Pocket Size"). It begins:
A is the aether that anchors the ark
and ends:
Y is the yoga that yonis the yen
Z is the zygote that zooids the zen
Thanks for sharing...
___________________
Julie
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