of uncertain vintage

at first there was nothing
still, with cicadas shrilling
a deadpan, unamused glare
it began as it always did

strangely named apéritifs
emptied into cesspools
a useless sack of skin
with a pithy comment

ravished and polluted
the dreadful mortification
the scent of wet earth
the rusty taste of old fear

consigned to the waste
ahead of the midnight line
the metal twisted and buckled
causing a jolt of terror

eyes rushing like searchlights
bronze statues of all the gods
the outline of a skull
just making words on the page

they were just meant to be stories

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

pontifex, or the adder

countless stories have ended
fasting on black bread and fermented cabbage
the blue distempered walls
the ever-changing patterns
of loyalty and dignity

i could barely get the words out
shouts and brandishings of weapons
leaving a wake of trampled stalks
blurred from the just-hung weight
split with the noise of thunder

turned by grief into black poplars
forming a continuous grove
between the midbrain and cerebral cortex
she did not even glance at them
everything was boring; everything was fine

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

books and plays and invented characters

one and only one
a childhood photograph
close this book right now
what do kids know anyhow?

walk into a bookstore
drag up loose threads
a creature of time
without any discernible plan

eddying at the doors
with an extreme intimacy
a copy, word by word
slightly more grim than good

their tongues had shrivelled
extinction was looking possible
wild as a dingo on drugs
rising mist and gun smoke

looked like an accident
the naked woman on the dais
the nature of her discomfort
red and clean, polished

the skeleton of the page
the flesh and clothes
dark overcoat and formal attire
beautiful old school cemetery

green like an emerald
time-blackened gargoyles
blister in need of lancing
throbbing behind my eyes

every petty vexation
which fortune may dispense
maybe a drop of rain
once upon a time

#dadaist #poem #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

the day was a fine one indeed

a prudent simplicity
almost completely silent
tunneling out the inside
turning a cold shoulder
no one would hear

the stereotype common man
a gray flannel suit
fine fabric, but frayed
a career of conjugal felicity
engulfed in flames

a languishing existence
an accident while shaving
the emptiness of the shadows
a frail figure in the darkness
the blood of the flock

peering into rock pools
apples from the swamp
peonies bloom out of season
smoke in the air
shaped like a cross

weary to the bone
upon the cold floor
funny things, memories
forbidden watches and compasses
but death's my destination

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

the thick air; it burns

a perfect line, unmarred
from the dark hills
three in one in the trinity
reading from the prayer book
we go down to the dust
into venerable monuments of regularity

shapes in the darkness
a bland, vacuous expression
an expression so freakish
strangely unpleasant
an audible intake of breath
clatter and clamor

the current is too strong
echoing through his head
a steaming snarl of roots
corruption and ungodliness
gaping wounds in the earth
purging into obscurity

forehead furrowed, murmuring
hard-faced crook, greedy pig
you mean nothing to them
the last victim of manic bloodshed
after all these years
you can stop asking

you’re not fooling anyone

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

agave flesh does not give like man's

it's not hard to imagine
the language of the prophet
nothing new, just more cruel

butterflies, whispering colors
trembling to his lips
nothing new, just more cruel

dampness that seeped up
their ears flooded
nothing new, just more cruel

the faintest of ripples
of eels in the thames
nothing new, just more cruel

in the gloom of the deep
untraceable poisons
nothing new, just more cruel

a radical solution
quick and effective
nothing new, just more cruel

electrodes in my brain
a cacophony of energy
nothing new, just more cruel

we may not meet again
after the riots
nothing new, just more cruel

a great tide of tears
in a pool of blood
nothing new, just more cruel

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

i will be smiling forever

the eyes are gone
no. not her. me.
i learned to fear
on the cruel white
of the paper
trying to speak
crying hunger
grave and bony
still ravenous
shadows across
the universe
ghosts and damp pine
taking deep breaths
burial rites
remain righteous
to man and god
haunted, haunted
with death itself
overwhelming
stuff the dead with
white noise to drown
out the sound of
oblivion

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

ever the worrier, my love

desolate
looking up from the knife i was sharpening

mangled
reaching for the sky with missing fingers

insidious
building like flames yearning for firewood

furious assault
changed naturally into pity and contempt

unconsciousness
the beginning of the night sky’s blackness

deep purples
the doomed canal-builders, or even alien visitors

corruption
how much more of a freak could i be?

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

eternity

no anxiety
louder and louder
no doubt, no dread, no fear
the magnificence
the thundering
laughed at and abused
the thrashing
the suffering
the human part of it
vast and beautiful
by all the gods
in the wind
at the cliff's edge
an unholy mess
in the upright coffin
a world that does not exist
a thousand twinkling bits of debris
relax and breathe in

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

a simple movement full of menace

at his usual spot on elysian fields
the north poured into his heart
one of only five passengers
i could have faced the light

night was racing in from the east
i'll call it nothing; an unnamed something;
a brief disturbance; a dream, perhaps
no way to know what it contained

forgotten during the long winter
deep in the pool's murky heart
it did funny things to the brain
where the dead-life grew larger

bluer at this instant by proximity
saturated with the kiss of decadence
with a guillotine pointed at my neck
i’m the one you have to knock down
i’m the one

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

the sharp steel, or
sign of the cross

it might seem strange
many offices inside
strange and secretive
different directions
a highly motivated thief
pure raw dominance
tightened his throat
a breaking connection
a jolt of terror
blood and flesh
demarcated by yellow tape

strong noontime sun
with the same unrest
black, spindly fingers
on the floorboards
a corpse
a fractional smile
a ritualistic display
a black waistcoat
one executioner
tethered to an iv
would you like to come in?

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

little comfort

choking. I put on jeans
running, running
No breasts, no hips
hermaphroditic
deeply susceptible
looking for the easy option
Psychogenesis
controlled substances
estranged from the objective world
broken, beautiful, rather alone

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

them

they were prepared to cope with uncertainty
peering lifelessly into their computer screens

as a spent bird will fly to its nest
they’ll wake up and stomp us all to death

quiet is the part they all agree on
fearlessly calling attention to themselves

as they turned up the long drive
hands rubbing together for warmth

they were licking me, biting me
a perfect little goat cheese

too much. they're down to the bone
out of this chaos of living things

i barely remembered grabbing the knife
if they exist, they are too far away

they live or die in the eye
that is what they cry out for

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

late to the rendevous point

white plastic chair in a sad cafe
no choice but to take the steep path
overcome by sensations of being pulled
to the entertainment section to read
some multi-media art show

beyond my deserts, i was happy
though the heavens might break open
it was usually a pleasant outing
darkening to the colour of the sky
fans and satchels and picnic baskets

the stinking miasma of the river
inside the gate to the short driveway
the lake glitters like a silver coin
shivered uneasily at the sound
the sound of someone in the hall

slippery thumbs in my eye sockets
yellow, and my brow was feverish
yellow-green like a cantaloupe melon
eventually, millions more years later
i wonder if i have done what i set out to do

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

with nowhere left to return

night of frost
the snow fell
a peculiar weight
from the darkness
the air is cold

steep narrow passes
muffled sounds of feet
and the strange
pale winter sun
against the overcast

wisps of river fog
cold and bitter
his dark face humble
the elusive signal
disappeared with the light

they spiral down
to perfect rest
dreaming, hung over
giggling and shrieking
their wordless chant

a sacred power
overshadowed by
the most depraved
grotesqueries
growing inside me

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

a chorus of whispers

most stories begin with life
playfully enlacing her fingers
at breakfast in a white dress

the valley is peaceful, undisturbed
the city was empty of tourists
but everyone knew the song

watching for the sun to darken
ripping up handfuls of horsetail
to hide her stupid absent eyes

the man crossed the playground
collecting and escorting souls
and the heavens descended

most stories begin with life
to protect our own dead
a by-product of surviving

this fact, more than any other,
one day, you will understand

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

bumblebee in a jar,
or a poor enough place

all shall be well
all manner of things
a sucking chest wound
followed by silence

sticky august evening
dead on a bench
in his convict stripes
warm — too warm

in a certain town
sharp across the white
far enough behind
distinctly unfair

elegantly dressed
in a crystalline mist
rattling for change
on the severe black granite

smiling rather ruefully
with evident satisfaction
to accept responsibility
his real punishment

a jar of vinegar
of brownish blood
of an illusion
are you listening?

bare sycamore branches
swinging clasped hands
keep going, going on
going on, keep going

mass in b minor
one of utter bliss
it won't take long, my love
it won't take long

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

no need to know what no one will ask

hundreds of yards away
a rainforest of lush evil
between himself and his pursuer
his scarecrow body
rushes past, so close
eyes wide with crazy fear,
the strange throbbing
horrifying devastation
now, he barely moves
too much bitterness

the great silence descends
like a spider web
it was an accident
he saw the face of god
time, love, beauty
trapped here forever
mysterious little pieces
in an endless dance
seven years of depression
the happiest man alive

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

unknowable, across the heavens

the recent and strange incidents
as we were accustomed to believe
had taken the sparkle from her eyes
the cellular and molecular mutations
playing the sounds of our hearts

seems like an illusion, a dream
the bleached bones of horses, and worse
strange animals startled into flight
i'll get us out of here, girl, i swear
how can hell exist if there is a heaven?

the centuries-old vampire glances
at the hazy curtain on the horizon
lying dormant for eons, while
like an ember, barely recognizable
heads flare in our night windows

corpses stare up at the detective
seized with a fit of nervousness
the woodpile gives an ominous groan
static erupts from the old radio
no doubt, no dread, no fear

rain pours down the back of his neck
doubled over, catching his breath
the horns that sprout from his forehead
an immodest green; boundaries blur
don't look at her; just begin

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

public notice, or why this place?

a memory eternal
when the sunrise still had frost
always at the perfect moment

a cold downpour
slicing me into little segments
like a sack of blood, flayed

a man in black
their wings folding slowly
sent hundreds to their deaths

until 1995
breaking into houses for a year now
what we call the mise-en-crime

in here
over a spread of tarot cards
grabbed at the others around her

her lover
since it’s hard and ugly enough
even if they're sick or senseless

at twelve
it was watercolor paintings
disgusting, they were all moist

the air, and the rain, retained their warmth
someone ran along the street, seeking shelter
no one came to check on her
there was no one left

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem