Liz’s Weekly Poetry Series: Free Association
My poetic output has been very limited recently, but tonight the muse descended, and a first draft of a rambling poem came forth. The poem is one of those probably futile attempts to capture disparate elements into some kind of limited cohesion. The tactic I’ve utilized tonight is free association. I have no idea where the first line came from, but sometimes that’s all it takes to spark something. Enjoy!
The temple is not a turtle shell
ambassadors lodge razor blades beneath
the disinterest of the owl atop the garage
proves my name is a crumpled receipt
balled up and tossed in the garbage can
try diplomacy after slurping down
a radioactive worm at the business end
of a Tequila bottle
the Pacific ocean is fucked
I believe the Japanese word for this is Fukushima
in Russia, there is a den where the snow goes to hide
will these clues ruin the delicate strings of our lives?
or how about this giant net to catch all the butterflies?
the count is high
culling time draws near
the temple floor is sticky with effluent
it’s too bad mudslides destroyed
skiing development in North Korea
if there is a homosexual piñata then the president
gets the first whack
days of our lives: Putin on horseback
and George painting selfies in Texas
O please, baby Jesus, won’t you help us?
there are so many ridiculous mustaches
on the faces of young men
Moloch gobbles children and meaty man-cock
how can you not feel the weight?
the glistening fur?
O Bradley, you have nothing to apologize for
the architects feel not a twinge of regret
there are so many needless corpses
and shades of lipstick for our national pig
GO BIG OR GO HOME!!!
the tithing this month came up short
the temple will issue its alerts
and job postings for mop technician
the young faces
the late nights
a new dawn for eugenics
and a net to engulf the whole globe
if only there could be stand up comedy in the temple
Hicks, Carlin, Pryor, Bruce
though river booze flows through the crypt
the rigid pews can’t recline
where did she go?
what have they done with her?
wings, feathery horns, talons
in northern California they cut that shape into stone
(the temple is the forest, but its power is abused)
tonight, in Kansas City, the temple is a Wilco song
the temple is a tent where my two boys sleep
a Coleman tent called Hooligan
when did they steal our language?
I am trying to break your heart, sings Tweedy
every locale I visit
I look for a book store
today it was Rainy Day Books (and it was raining)
I started reading about the friendship between
Czeslaw Milosz and Joseph Brodsky
the date Milosz died was mentioned: August 14th, 2004
the date I read this: August 14th, 2013
there are lots of people in Russia who aren’t demons
same goes for China
was the Cold War really anything more than Rocky IV?
was going big really mutually assured destruction?
hide under your school desks, children
the wings of Moloch will protect you
the temple music shifts to
The Kills singing Fuck The People
I open another book of verse: Edward Dorn’s Abhorrences
These Times Are Medieval
They’d just as soon sell ya
a poison pizza as look atcha
They’d jusas soon fireya
And they’d rather
killya than feedya
are we already tired
of people named Edward telling us ugly truths?
will Bradley be in prison for the rest of his life?
the insects outside are deafening
time is the fuel propelling our sad charade
waking may still be an option, dear citizens
but not for long