deepundergroundpoetry.com
'Measured By The Soul'
Bones and bowels of bed relic
Ancestral assassins pour him into
Wells of loneliness, fractured as
Limbs strapped to splints.
Call of the wild lies silent
In the throat of tiger,
Pawed by uglified consumers
Of ‘that which is not deemed normal.’
Hush,
Sit here for a while & eBay bid
For The Elephant Man foreskin.
With eyes sunk into
Catacomb wombs,
He cried.
Arched under carousel
The ladies paraded,
He cried.
Princess arrived in royal carriage
Marriage of perfume and flesh
Lingered on velveteen curtain, this
Purest mist tore his eye stalks
From heart'ed biography roots.
He bled.
And though winter moon
Summoned shrine of glacial stars,
All he could taste was summer warmth.
(Ave) Maria to be his bride
Wed in the Cathedral he
Built in box-bedroom,
Wove her dress from insects and poetry
Paper rings from shelved psalms.
He stood alone at the altar
Pieces of his skeleton huddled
Together awaiting their infamy.
Jesus made him, but
He remained a suffering servant…..
And he knew
Before evetide bells
Swept pillowed midnight
That all he wanted
Was to sleep as a human.
He wept no more.
1995
Flicked ash into Wimpole Street gutters
Flared before submitting to the rain,
A bicycle spluttered through puddle
Old lady sheltered under yellow umbrella.
Turned my collar to the weather -
A pyrrhic victory against clouded army -
To return to 9-to-5 monotony
Faceless lives on computer screen.
From behind a balcony curtain
Something seemed to shift,
The ghost of Joseph’s bones?
At my desk, comfort of coffee,
Watched the rain sluice thru’ London.
#ERULGCT 23. Vis by Uma.
* Lady in pic. Princess of Wales (Alexandra) who befriended Joseph Merrick. (Just in case you interested in monarchy et al. I am not.)
* Worked (well, I turned up) in Wimpole Street for decade. Merrick used to spend much time in a Wimpole Street town house with his closest ally and his family.
Ancestral assassins pour him into
Wells of loneliness, fractured as
Limbs strapped to splints.
Call of the wild lies silent
In the throat of tiger,
Pawed by uglified consumers
Of ‘that which is not deemed normal.’
Hush,
Sit here for a while & eBay bid
For The Elephant Man foreskin.
With eyes sunk into
Catacomb wombs,
He cried.
Arched under carousel
The ladies paraded,
He cried.
Princess arrived in royal carriage
Marriage of perfume and flesh
Lingered on velveteen curtain, this
Purest mist tore his eye stalks
From heart'ed biography roots.
He bled.
And though winter moon
Summoned shrine of glacial stars,
All he could taste was summer warmth.
(Ave) Maria to be his bride
Wed in the Cathedral he
Built in box-bedroom,
Wove her dress from insects and poetry
Paper rings from shelved psalms.
He stood alone at the altar
Pieces of his skeleton huddled
Together awaiting their infamy.
Jesus made him, but
He remained a suffering servant…..
And he knew
Before evetide bells
Swept pillowed midnight
That all he wanted
Was to sleep as a human.
He wept no more.
1995
Flicked ash into Wimpole Street gutters
Flared before submitting to the rain,
A bicycle spluttered through puddle
Old lady sheltered under yellow umbrella.
Turned my collar to the weather -
A pyrrhic victory against clouded army -
To return to 9-to-5 monotony
Faceless lives on computer screen.
From behind a balcony curtain
Something seemed to shift,
The ghost of Joseph’s bones?
At my desk, comfort of coffee,
Watched the rain sluice thru’ London.
#ERULGCT 23. Vis by Uma.
* Lady in pic. Princess of Wales (Alexandra) who befriended Joseph Merrick. (Just in case you interested in monarchy et al. I am not.)
* Worked (well, I turned up) in Wimpole Street for decade. Merrick used to spend much time in a Wimpole Street town house with his closest ally and his family.
Published 27th Apr 2020
Author's Note
# ERULGCT 23. Image c/o Umanoid xx. You would need a heart of stone not to be stirred by David Lynch 'Elephant Man' film. All he ever wanted was love and to be able to sleep horizontally as other humans. PLEASE ALL STAY SAFE.
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27th Apr 2020 11:48pm
wasn't able to watch it but listened to it again last night in the background.
perfect title Rob and the ending...
a recovery, some deep fucking dredged up recovery of ones self against all the lap danced head
blanded easy escape
agreed the film is a litmus test
perfect title Rob and the ending...
a recovery, some deep fucking dredged up recovery of ones self against all the lap danced head
blanded easy escape
agreed the film is a litmus test
Thank you. We speak a similar language in the existential search for somethings, nothings and everythings.
30th Apr 2020 8:54pm
This hurts me and I want to marinate in the contemplation and feeling so I'm going to close my reading here for today. Your opening holds the kind of violent sacrificial tragedy of the crucifixion. I always thought that is must have been very lonely, to die thrust up into the sky, rather than against the womb of earth. Your close is utterly winsome as it comes to life in a shadow of dimensions touched upon. You've captured so much of the paradox of the obtuse and emotionally potent, walking hand in hand through our lives.
