Tuesday, January 1, 2019

new year post

perhaps the pantaloons poetry is too expressive
or nonsense or computer generated—whatevs
I cannot keep up with it
But do enjoy the mostly invisible feeling
 (as my friend she sits near and taps)

41+ years on,
the perspective has changed alright
is it just noise?
or just faster (and faster) cars ?
Dylan's Welsh tidbit biscuit fare..

I used to know myself
the flow of words seems so absurd now
seems the end is night
every morning in bed about 3am
the dark thinks crowd around and stare

trying to locate some grommet of certainty
or a pleasure node somewhere there in the abyss
or inside another person or inside me
a hole to comfort, an escape hole
a latch hole, a hidey hole, a pocket of tricks

oh God the slightest movement of a chair
imbibed in silence, contains all the secrets
the pathetic secrets, oh God the pathos

boiling down the year to its end
the essence is sticky, sweet, ugly
little dead insects in it
dark burnt umber in it
it's a useless sauce, nobody is surprised tho

reaching for certainty sticks with the mind
but the mind doesn't stick—dump the mind
dump the mind
dump the meandering mind
the careening animal mind

find the fool
there they are in the corner,
recognisable in that old party hat
ask them for a dance
see them rise slowly and come forward
an opening dance
for the new year [2019]