deepundergroundpoetry.com
only yesterday, when we were mad
In delirium, et tu brutal,
Woodpecker-jabber of
‘Making houses from horses.’
&
Endless rewording of biography
Of him
Yet,
Not of him.
‘Last night I dreamt I was in Japan. Cauldrons of wayward wind pinned me to pagoda, mountains of inked cherry blossom slit my skin. Woken by the sound of sun thrashing aluminium rooves and fragrance of porcelain bowled shirumono soup. I cradled the bowl and tiger slurped. Wrapped myself in kamikaze kimono and with no thought for the impending mess on the floor, leapt to my death. It was my 25th death of the year – an anniversary of sorts. I paper-cut a record on my left arm. A litany of life affirmation…..’
Semaphorists failed to comprehend
The sinew speech of his bodied language.
Show me the space’scape
Of your forget-me-nots galaxy,
The digitalised map had been a sparse constellation
Of grey circles spotting the black expanse -
Let me paint your universe a certain kindle of red.
The world is not everything. That is the case.
Caged, rapacious roar
“My kingdom for a pencil”
Self-armed, lithium loaded
Sloshed on Karenina kisses:
‘The strawberry ember of her cigarette lingered for the span of a breath; and then she, too, was gone.’
When he finally spoke to her
Beyond grassy knoll of an estate:
“I’ll speak to you in rhyme.”
She sat mute on outside step
Waiting to clutch the first
Thing to fall from the sky.
Oh, for a stumped pencil
He would write the world
In graphite & broken points.
Place the ink pot closer
Watch it spill into the
Well of gratification.
You are / You are not
It might become what it is
When it will be
I understood him.
He could have been me.
Woodpecker-jabber of
‘Making houses from horses.’
&
Endless rewording of biography
Of him
Yet,
Not of him.
‘Last night I dreamt I was in Japan. Cauldrons of wayward wind pinned me to pagoda, mountains of inked cherry blossom slit my skin. Woken by the sound of sun thrashing aluminium rooves and fragrance of porcelain bowled shirumono soup. I cradled the bowl and tiger slurped. Wrapped myself in kamikaze kimono and with no thought for the impending mess on the floor, leapt to my death. It was my 25th death of the year – an anniversary of sorts. I paper-cut a record on my left arm. A litany of life affirmation…..’
Semaphorists failed to comprehend
The sinew speech of his bodied language.
Show me the space’scape
Of your forget-me-nots galaxy,
The digitalised map had been a sparse constellation
Of grey circles spotting the black expanse -
Let me paint your universe a certain kindle of red.
The world is not everything. That is the case.
Caged, rapacious roar
“My kingdom for a pencil”
Self-armed, lithium loaded
Sloshed on Karenina kisses:
‘The strawberry ember of her cigarette lingered for the span of a breath; and then she, too, was gone.’
When he finally spoke to her
Beyond grassy knoll of an estate:
“I’ll speak to you in rhyme.”
She sat mute on outside step
Waiting to clutch the first
Thing to fall from the sky.
Oh, for a stumped pencil
He would write the world
In graphite & broken points.
Place the ink pot closer
Watch it spill into the
Well of gratification.
You are / You are not
It might become what it is
When it will be
I understood him.
He could have been me.
Published 15th May 2020
Author's Note
#ERULGCT 36. Umanoid xx All is so surreal. Inspired by a good friend who was sectioned, in my humble opinion, wrongly. ALL STAY SAFE
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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they say that the Truth is stranger than fiction... much very much .. & such strength & absoluteness holds thus truth... I am reminded of this the Only Truth.. & the delicate thinline between the everythings & nothings... there are so so so so many places that grips me in awe .. of your imaginary extensions & mindboggling surrealities .. & the literal~ metaphorical realms almost you play at ease in a miscibly~ immiscible nuanced way.. as if teasing the simplistic straight predisposed readers in your flexing circling in & out sculpts & plasma constructs so featherlite yet heavvily indelibly in there in one.. that flow fill fuel as soul eternal.. this is a very explorative & different piece thta I am in Love & awe of your flow & format ... terribly shocked taht it didnt evoke others' response on this outlandish masterpiece that it deserves much... It will sure... reserving this to be nominated for POM June'20 :) before i wrap up here, the refrain ... of this thinline essence of everything ~ nothing you say all across at focal points .. in different ways... is ingenius... & that italicised verses are epic! Shine On Infinite My Poet Ultimate.. Love Me xx
