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nun-the-sabratical-wurst-for-where?
Submitted by Quasimofo on September 6, 2009 – 12:36 pm7 Comments
nun-the-sabratical-wurst-for-where?
by quasimofo
‘Back away from the brightness
cause the brightness
creates blindness’ it said
to me,
as i F E L T in my arms
an in-love-with-love
M U S E
breathing
c a l m k a p l u e y
cause the brightness
creates blindness’ it said
to me,
as i F E L T in my arms
an in-love-with-love
M U S E
breathing
c a l m k a p l u e y
into my ice cream ear,
kissing cornered sweat
kissing cornered sweat
from my post-partum neck..
her hand easing
her hand easing
like resolved inebriation
down my jack-hammered
down my jack-hammered
chest cavity
releasing pent-up steam.
My heart’s been
stamped by
a cookie-cutter
and the only
sounding board
is a lonely ‘twack’
scrounging thru
the unmedicated dark
of holistically partitioned night.
Redo, Revamp, Rewire
me and
Patch me for the road, please.
I cannot tally all these
Harry-met-Sallys (congenially),
When I’m on the ropes,
it’s a bad time to show me
the ropes;
and as a benchwarmer,
i often set new
benchmarks with a
long dead
meat carving knife.
There is no wiping
the slate and
forgetting religion,
society, in it’s
flavor-of-the-week
wave – pool
of cosmic repercussions.
If you can’t keep up with
the Joneses, you
should not, in other words,
blow up their house.
My heart’s been
stamped by
a cookie-cutter
and the only
sounding board
is a lonely ‘twack’
scrounging thru
the unmedicated dark
of holistically partitioned night.
Redo, Revamp, Rewire
me and
Patch me for the road, please.
I cannot tally all these
Harry-met-Sallys (congenially),
When I’m on the ropes,
it’s a bad time to show me
the ropes;
and as a benchwarmer,
i often set new
benchmarks with a
long dead
meat carving knife.
There is no wiping
the slate and
forgetting religion,
society, in it’s
flavor-of-the-week
wave – pool
of cosmic repercussions.
If you can’t keep up with
the Joneses, you
should not, in other words,
blow up their house.
I hear sirens sirens Sirens
and only howling dogs…
7 Comments »
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Lmao at feedback. Yeah, sorta short winded, true…i’m slowly dabbling in concisiveness…not that i will be totally converted or anything. I am tempted to blow up the Joneses though, or at least the Haggards (lol). This was originally a facebook poem so characters were limited is what brought on shortness…i beefed it some with some extrapolation to put meat on the ribs.
Once again, i am in awe of your gentleman/scholar knowledge, Mr. Halifax, you astound me at every turn like an American Gladiator bred on Wheaties and Encylopedia Britanica–gravity is only a theory they say. Nice bounceback bebops…liked em.
I haven’t seen the one on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead-, will have to check into it, and i’ll recommend an old flick called ‘Sirens’ with Hugh Grant and Elle McPherson…awesome church dream scene where the pastor’s wife shows up stark-ass naked…turn your hymnal to page 69 please. lol.
Glad you’re feeling better, Misener! Where’s that sponge bath with Aunt Jemima poem?
Razor-thin mint Girl Scout Cookies mince immense words to silvery thin slivers of tongue, on rye, white, or marbled bread and wry wit, ribald bred with a generously smeared (though perhaps not onerously prepared) mayonnaise of miasmic malaise.
Intriguing as usual, but kind of short-winded for you mofo, isn’t it? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe the cookie cutter. Anyways, I’d just go ahead and blow up the Joneses house. I mean, seriously, they probably deserve it.
http://www.pedigreequery.com/sabratical
Apparently, Sabratical is the mare born of a stud Wavering Monarch (from the U.S.) and a British mare named Unconquered.
No wonder I can’t keep up with the Joneses. They got a Pedigreed Thoroughbred in their stable.
The most romantic and personal thing Quasi. Loved it. Too many painkillers to elaborate.
Rereading this, I spotted a Sylvia Plath reference- “patched, retreaded and approved for the road” from The Bell Jar…nicely worked. I’ll hunt for more!
I’ll howl to your sirens sir. As an adult I am wrestling with similar misgivings about the makeup of my identity and the integrity of my personal will. Am I who I am because that’s what I want or am I who I am because that’s what this factory produces right now?
Like Tom Stoppard a’la Richard Dreyfuss in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead-
“It’s what we do.” Hardly conciliatory when it comes to worrying late nights, wishing that worries and wishing constituted self-awareness.
You tell us in an advisory tone to ‘wonder all you want but don’t take not knowing out on the neighbors’. Sound advice.