Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

I am not an honest man.
It is the honest man who speaks
in frank and often shocking ways.
It is the honest man who speaks
the truth you’ve thought but haven’t
had the words to say.
It’s provocative and resonant.
He is both entertainer and prophet.
It’s empowering.
In the company of his words
it is indeed you who are thinking.
And you join the rally cry for that
ambiguous thing, change.
I have great respect for the honest man,
the honest woman.
I too hear their call and I too accept it.
I am not the honest man.
I don’t speak the truth, because
I’m confused at the fundamental level.
I’m angry
and it clouds my judgement.
I’m sad and I cannot offer
I keep company with Job and Qohelet,
the disciples on that lonely Saturday,
Christ, of course, on that godforsaken cross, with
faith as small as half a mustard seed.


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I am full poetry
I am excess busting combustation
tainted love righteous lust and still going
seven of everything true and real
every ironic reclaimed feigned Americanism
every neostic neologism coinage
combs of honey-eyed
eagle eyes memories and memoires
notepadded notorities refluxing
fluctuating presently amamnesis in continuity
of the beautiful…

I am again full poetry
comforts miserable memorable melancholia
sucking inhaled swallowed sorrows at no
extra cost (to health body mind soul
spirit)! but pure joyful joyed elastic
sable ecstasy unstable regarding
consistency stable regarding
handling and the purity opposites reconciled
in history in some faux (logic!) line or
“reconciled” in pure maintenance of their own

I am full poetry
I never myself acted though am I
acted upon and thereby disembodied
disemsouled in the disinterested open
“freedom” of the plummeting it
disrupts ruptures the oesophageal Riccarton
as of yet not disembowelled Sumner
the Burwood the Halswell Quarry
dictating adulthood a dull thood

I am finally again will ever be full poetry
posing posies bless
you hallowed self and other other and self
shelved in the open All
surprised by some beautiful true Beyond
layer on layer on layer on blessed layer
in some eternal vineyard some anything of everything
propelled and completely present past
and completely to come
upon the restoration of all things!
upon the source – the literal Lamb!
onwards! and withwards – everything “good”!

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there was no analogy no
precedent to prepare
just the thereness of her
presidence transcendent
purple pleasantness lightening and
ember amber and fright me quieten me she evokes
beneath my underscalp behind my backchest
scalpel sacred chapel laketown 3am cometskies within me
above me come at me dove (i.e., kōtuku) love
above me all manner of numerical
contradiction, “souls” and “minds,” contraband
fine sands the absolutely new outside
the dialectic inside the inconsequential the
“individual” divided heart divided undividables
we take exception to the only exception and she (!)
evokes a holy terror clearer cleaner terra firma! everything
which is not me is so intense
extensive even intending on extending inverting
my own all part piece of the whole and naming it
subtlety peace in “in” the new not the ever new
yet the “new” as disruption the path less
often taken always blatantly overgrown unkempt
confesses its own boredom etc conformity
and the like thus the new which is true truly new (?)
the authentic the real the conveniently finite
this is it
if only such sudden trembling could accompany
every sweet idolatry I do literally then
the irreducibly future though it encompasses already
every ready all it could come to terms
with her and her cosmological implications
but it is really nothing more
than glorified glowing resplendent nothingness in
both senses of the word that is according
to our origin and my own subtlety I become
finite inside fine night fire-honey sulphur-blizzard
rain (reign?) singe cinch my countless
spiritual intestines you already do are have done
thus the necessity of distance lol
star queen ocean mantis oak being
if anything were to eventuate we would both curdle
at each other’s weakness! (i.e., smallness)

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If I were an Aristotelian, girl,
you would be my telos.
And if I were a Neo-Platonist,
you would be the One.

If I were a rationalist,
you would be my ergo and I
would be your subject.
If I were an idealist, well,
you’re already phenomenal.

If I were a Marxist,
you would be my utopia.
Life’s dialectic; let’s
work it out.

If I were an existentialist, girl,
you would be my nausea, my sickness
unto death. My negation would be willed
by you and I would despair you, affirm you, and die

And if I were a feminist, well,
clearly that’s necessary.

Yet I am but a poor Gentile idolater and we
are dust.

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possibility alights on day break sunshine
tomorrow is the limit of her pinions wings
everything is future promise summer eternal
yellow golden never-ending endlessnesses

but yet the teeth machine of history stone past
grasps at for to must get has got her nape and tarsus
concrete overcast darkness necessity nothing
nothing nothing nothing

ruffle beat struggle conscious conscious
the light of grey is a pale one
“to live” has a broad semantic domain
it extends to the obsolete

memory scorns hope takes creates its own
scorns denies that which never came to be
and mourns breaks sings its own new beautiful nothing

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The subtlety of hair

The subtlety of hair,
The scratchy scalp,
The seriousness of the forehead,
The brow of the eye.

The audacity of eyebrows, in general,
The sleep in an eye,
The blur of the other one,
Grease is the word down the length of the nose.

Yesterday’s growth just north of the lip,
The good-morning salt in the underbite,
The suitability of the chin for paint preparation,
The perfect neck.

The “here I am” of the shoulders,
The “there you go” of the arms,
The “as luck would have it” of nipples,
The handiness of fingers.

The slap of the puku,
The stop-to-think finger-home of the inny,
The monstrosity of the penis,
The contentment of the ball-bag.

The camaraderie of thighs in the crisis of rising,
The possibility of knees,
The difficulty of shins,
Don’t try to convince me on ankles.

The ground beneath the feet,
The stubs before the toes,
In the body the ambivalent,
In the ambivalent the absurd,
In the absurd God.

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I said to the oceans,
“I will swallow you.”

I said to the mountains,
“I will crumble you.”

I said to the sky,
“I will suck you up.”

I said to the sun,
“I will put you out.”

I looked to every place
and defied it.

I exceeded all existence and spat,
“You sourced me but now I source you.

“I am my kingmaker.
In me you are no more.”

The oceans revolted
and scorned their beginning.

The mountains lunged
and seized their origin.

The sky swelled
and smothered all reality.

The sun blazed
and consumed all being.

And though I looked to every place
I did not see God.

He surrendered to the ocean
and did not move for mountains.

He yielded to the sky
and allowed the sun to take him.

And when I one day sought to end him
he did not fight, nor even speak,
but walked on, silently.

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