Scribblings
TME KMPRN (It’s cool, but it’s not poetry is it?)
Dec 28th
TME KMPRN
Taught to dream
not with his head
but with his hands.
Inside he’s naked
and a little girl.
She loves, and alone
They leave, and die
young dos elastique
and so the sea finds
comical the combinations
in French soils .
Now never screaming
froid et subtle
dates nor eyes
nor your voice
added with their wounds
move our city of displacement.
And I am left screaming:
WHY SHOULD I PAY THE COUNCIL TAX?
Bastards.
Poem: ‘horizon’ (and some thoughts on procedural poetry)
Dec 16th
the horizon
fixed the abyss to an eyelid
there I was
stretched like vessels
across the sky
before learning as adults
my thoughts pressed
along the flow of a
plume
until the pressure was subdued
more it gazed into me,
More I aged, per mesi…
____
Poem: The Solution
Dec 10th
The Solution
I under colours, suffers
my driving thoughts
all day through.
It grows so immense
that before I know it,
I am lost in open waters.
I asked my father, never short of
absurd and profound truths,
whether I should discard
the horrible eyes of English
as though it were a well-defined illusion
Still I know
had he told me different
I would have cried tears
that could split atoms,
as I clung like a coastal city
onto the edge of my identity.
roots
Dec 8th
The next time you’re doing a translation, don’t use the dictionary. If you don’t know the word, pick something that it sounds of. Otherwise, just guess. It will probably be all right.
—-
Somewhere
there is a woman,
her hips wind like a river,
her language like our hands
stretched out in a thousand words.
Spread through the fields the
daggers pass
like
my
thoughts.
But we are suspended like
months upon our words,
in the Gardens where we weep,
john baldessari
Dec 1st
Only a section is taken, set in a corner and blown up to its original size. The red square delineates the size of the original work. The rest of the square is empty and we are invited to determine how the artwork has ’survived’ mechanical reproduction.
Not well.
