Friday, December 19, 2014

All You Wanted Really

Today, in search of sources
of resources of new intellection,
you have somehow managed
through a coalescence of reflection

to produce innumerable minds
beyond whatever you’d been
born with. You found it wasn’t hard
at all to generate this loose

profusion of collective brain –
colluding in a sort of musical gestalt
of theme and strain which wove
an aural prologue to an exegetically

unprecedented genesis of thought:
an intimately, intricately satisfying
abstract web in which you happily
discovered you were caught.

All you wanted really were
the sounds of many words.
To sing to you like birds.


Thursday, December 18, 2014

The Meteorological Equivalent of Silences in Pinter

Cold requires accoutrements
sufficient wrapping to induce
a happiness in being in the cold.

We like the risk: we like when
we are rolled in a belying warmth –
shielded from the ruthlessness

of winter – immersed in a defense
against the meteorological
equivalent of silences in Pinter.


Somebody Should Tell Him

in anguish –
disruptive! –

of even
the remotest
calm comportment:

should tell him
ever that important.