The Zombies

The Zombies

There is no one I can tell

My own ideas to.

Opera and poetry are dead.

People (even old ones)

Only want the modern world.

Everything before it is a bore.

The country's been invaded

By the latest thing in art -

Zombies. And they're biting everyone.

And everyone is turning into

Zombies. Though they look

Like people,

They're Americans at heart.

10-21-13

 

Understanding

My poesy absorbs me.

Junkets died at 26.

There's more to me than Keats -

A depth without the understanding.

Millay was sugar water

In a tumbler with a spoon -

A glass upon a table

Where the conscious people sit.

I go by inspiration,

No idea what I think

Until I read it written.

Can it possibly be true?

Do the Muses understand me?

I don't understand the Muses.

I can't even tell if someone's

Totally insane.

Boundaries, perspectives,

What is likely, what is false,

What can be expected,

What should not.

It is big and I don't know,

But several thousand years ago,

They believed the earth was flat,

And dinosaurs ate men.

10-20-13

 

Tawdry Music

A lonely drunkard at a bar

Confesses all his horrors.

Normal people keep their lives

At home, behind closed doors.

Memories of tawdry music

Echo through my brain

At 6 a.m. in empty places,

And I feel insane.

10-20-13

 

Grandiose

I have written poesy.

And much of what I've kept

Is memorable, excellent.

And now it's time I slept.

But I won't sleep and I won't die

Until a hundred books

Are sitting on the planet's shelves

For anyone who looks

To read, appreciate and feel,

Considerably touched,

After which I will release

The life to which I've clutched.

10-20-13

 

A Saying

Someone said that courage isn't

Not to be afraid,

But doing what you need to do

When you ARE afraid.

10-20-13

 

Jill And The Modern Poets

If every modern poem

Were as beautiful as yours,

There would be a reason

To put poetry in stores.

Rather we have poets

Who like Merwin, think they think,

27 doctorates

And lots of printer's ink.

Poets who take pleasure in

Believing they are real,

Nomads of the gutter telling

How it feels to steal.

To bring the reading public

Absolutely to its knees,

Society needs several million
Poets just like these.

Or maybe in a pasture

Lying underneath a cow,

An excellent example of

What's called a lyric now!

10-21-13

 

Brains

A limited intelligence

As though there was a board

Behind my forehead,

Flat across my brain

Keeping me from thinking.

I can go no further forward,

Dull and senseless,

Without thought or pain,

Grey and like a cloud, and numb.

Unless I'm writing poems,

Beyond this point I'm dumb.

10-21-13