Showing posts with label planets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label planets. Show all posts

8.11.17

diaper dialogues ii

some memories ago we were sitting in empty stadium of light, befallen concepts like halloween mini chocolate bar wrappers scattered and everything like buttered dust, the many creatures around like fantasies or exhaust, pear blossoms (or was it bear bottoms?) in the air like ratatouille spilling from purgatory’s dirty green bins, everything like a box of atavistic hope wrapped in athena’s mons hairs which, as reputation goes, are longer than the distance between mirfak and hd 223229, thick as rapunzel’s braids, strong as the alphabet, …

you’re a poet?

a voidist

avoidist?

an avoidist

anavoidist?

an anavoidist

bananavoidist?

an anarchist

antechrist?

an anti anteantianavoidist

poet

i’ve heard it all before

once you’ve heard it all before you turn into a poet

once you’ve heard it all before you turn into a craunched marmoset

which came first, the poet or the avoidist?

marmoset

what did marmaduke say to the marmoreal marmalade on marmara?

this is the way it’s gone today

marmaduke?

it wasn’t funny

the marmoset was a little bit

craunched or uncraunched?

sadoo diaper
sitting in stadium
bear blossoms buttered
everything goes
alphabet empty
concepts like dirty
air like a distance
befallen exhaust

there, history on rutters. it entered from 219 with a couple from the nation’s capital looking like civil servants, never seen madness or poverty but through media. we went with it, poetry tends to

the couple said nothing?

the dude asked a few questions. edited them out

i don’t mean to be realistic – there are so many prefixes – but where did it come from?

219. i told you

but before that?

6a probably

you know what i mean

ultimately no

what about unultimately?

probably no too

they didn’t have that faith in poetry, that it could do anything, that it had any energy or light from outside, that it could produce, alone or in aggregate, even just in the soul, more compassion than cruelty, camaraderie than desolation, calm than ennui. for poetry is not a planet unto itself, lacking relation. and the poem not some form apart from smallmindedness or war

rev bonobo leaves the way gi came, 541, 14, hope like dirty ratatouille, reputation purgatorial (as it is), diaper like a leaf or gum in bleachers in a stadium in homo sapiens, poetry legacy software still somehow running in the os of our hearts