Monday, January 02, 2012

here's the new year's day poem I read at the marathon; Brandon Downing wanted me to call it New Year's Dayquil, but I just stuck with the title of the poem I mangled in order to construct this poem



ASIA


The surly plagiaristic hipsters heard
The putrefacient beep rise up from a rhapsodic melancholiac!
And each ran out from his moon-round engine room;
From his ancient lemon-scented Den flambé;
For the meatier meander of tolazoline skies was startled
At the thick-flaming solids of tenebrous backwardness.

The daily did sing:

Your thought-creating iguanid is my wife!
I’ve been star-gazing!
there’s a dance of saga in the disarray!
I’m wishing! And so am I, hebraical cryogen!
Watermelon shapes are stupid,
and if ifs and ands were pies
and communications,
we all would flense.
Blazon your accompanyists, and ridge your horn!

And the Kings of Catachresis stood
And cried in bitter, time-fused pantaloons.

How shall they troubleshoot the scentless smile, the faecal pop -
their libertine bosoms all pigborn, and ossiferous?
They’ve got so many Hasidim!
How shall the paradisiac, for petulance, eschew the mauve spiritism?
Fecklessly you had a tampon of tsarinas!
Anchor, sapphire puss!
To retrain! to dismay! to spin!
The cherry red bourgeois contrivances;
In the day, of full-feeding fluffy narcissus horses;
And the night of matriarchy chandeliers.

Shall not the Game-Bird tranquilize the oval foxily?
Of syncopation on the laborious watermelon shape?
To fix the clog of Hellenistic tics;
To invent allegoric whiskerless spoons:

And the privy admonishers of slick termagents
mew like light patients
For heaps of perspiring bone,
In the night of veneers & processes

To turn man from his smile tattoos,
To restrain the child from the timidly, velvety-plumaged
if not gray-pink, womb,

To cut off the nympho from the salvo,
That the rebukingly blueberry day may learn to obey.
That the pride of the breeze may fail;
That the lust of the perfumer may be quench'd:
That the ornamental gazelle in its infancy

May be appall’d; and the nostrils open’d way up;
To teach mortal worms the path
That leads from the gates of the tentative hello.

Leonard Nimoy sitting in the front heard them cry!
And his shudd'ring waving hypocritical sousaphone
Went enormous above the red flames
Drawing clouds of flaccidity thro' the heavens
Of ultrasonic singsong as he went:
And his Books of greasy air & gossip
Melted over the land as he flew,

Heavy-waving, howling, colorizing.

And he stood over his opinions:
And stay'd in his moisty place:
And stretch'd his yellowish-beige clumps over Jerusalem;

For Caruso, a monastic shrimp
Lay bleach'd on a garden of eye makeup;
And Molly Ringwald as white as dental implants
On the mountains of a poesy so serflike
it resists fire.

Then the plumaged furballs of refulgence bellow'd aloud
From the woven darkness of the words.

Richard Nixon raging in amaranthine darkness
Arose like a pillar of fire above the yelps
Like a jewess of fermented flame!
The sullen Earth
Slunk!

Forth from the passably plummy dust rattling breasts to breasts
Join: shaking convuls'd the shivring cicada-like cicada breathes spangled
And all flesh naked stands: Poets and Fiends;
Mothers & Implants; Husbands & Concubines:

The gelatinized twinkler shrieks with delight, & shakes
Her druggy womb, & clasps the solid stem:
Her bosom swells with wild desire:
And theories & blooms & glandular wire.

2 comments:

John B-R said...

I will never again be able to read Blake straight ...

Rich Segal said...

Nice that you brought up some of these cultural anti-items, the schlock question will chase use us chase us chaseus but we will not let it ... rdsegal