Thursday, January 16, 2014

What I Learn En Route To Another Epiphany / Tanks Fur / The Poem I Was Meant To Write / Blowing On The Incense Embers Of My Fingernails / Some Are Saying


Ron Androla

What I Learn En Route To Another Epiphany

 JFK autopsy photographs in a documentary
Light up our living room. We shuffle like heavily-sedated
Kids, again. Fat, opiate toads pull thru dry grass & thick
Mud. The echo from the future of Vietnam. Eyes on the
Surface of Mars. Between time crescendos, we inhale remains
From bronze charcoal & the discovery of honey. Language
Leaps from throats with lizard-tongue words, oh, we
Must thrust sound out of our wet tube because goddamnit
There's an internal need to communicate with mutants.
JFK addresses the United Nations to declare the obliteration
Of weapons & war, & the Moon hears his yesterday.
Blows the right side of his head off to fresh, mutilated meat.
Nixon clinks scotch with the murderers. The first president
Bush is a facelift of smiles. It's a well-orchestrated, plotted,
Brain-adjustment on Amerika's culture. We know shit what
Happens via our gullet of news coverage, fed shit, filled with
Shit, left with shit. The man who led the Warren Commission
Into Kennedy's assassination had been fired by JFK because
Of The Bay Of Pigs fiasco. This man is dead. I doubt
Amerika as if half my head had taken an exploding bullet
Medication. Humans are adjustable. Reality is adjustable.
History is adjustable. Truth is adjustable. God is adjustable.
Leaking from a contaminated poem, a forming picture of
Hell.

*

Tanks Fur


Tanks fur
Loaded potatoes

Lobbed across a murky
Restaurant under

The Sea. Tanks
Fur jelly tension

Light bulbs burn air,
Stick to my thumbs.

Tanks purr
Nightmare cats

Oh they creep
Upon loose snare

Sensitivity. Static
Electricity rubs

Their vocal, visual
Vault. Fault echoes

Snap
Marrow like a crisp

Pea pod. Tanks fur
The fur of the Moon

The fur of the Moon
Light. Thanks for

Tremendous
Mistakes. Pepper

Spray fur tanks,
Precognitive fury tanks.

*

The Poem I Was Meant To Write



I'm sweating under a thick, insulated
Shirt jacket & a black wool cap. I'm
Always in this same situation, vacuum

Handle in my hand, sweating. The roaring
Floor spins, sucking, in weak, gray light,
Bright electricity & bits of stone. Dumb

Ass sweat & a very dry mouth, again
& again, dumb as a rock
Ass. After a grandchild sleepover,

After tumbling, petal-tossing cats hiss,
After the old, mammoth dog groans, his
Slobber crystallizes; vacuum. Lift ancient

Rugs like serrated eons, pull granite coffee
Table out per cliff, extend plastic wand to kiss
Edges of fluffy feline flowers, clumped canine hair,

Cellular dust from us.
Sure, we're snug behind newly-installed,
Radiated, window glass, blessed by a brash,

Young furnace, especially
Wearing extra articles,
November clothes. Ass, head-drenched,

Situated in a dumb,
Domestic, balding
Position. Then to

Hesitate, to write,
To lock-jaw limp, breathless
Poems with lush, pulsing life air;

Or to smother this poetically
Dumb, mad, sweeping ass
Admission with an inappropriate title.

*

Blowing On The Incense Embers Of My Fingernails


Dragon
Blood, I burn cones so the furnace sucks
Smoke to kiss up thru our old registers

To kiss away cat piss & cellar mold
To kiss age & ash from my face
To kiss deep & long into the odor of existence

We paint a kitchen wall sunflower yellow,
Love it, but my son comes in, laughs,
“Looks like a hippie wall now!” I don't

See the connection, but whatever, I respond,
We like the yellow. What the hell does
That have to do with hippies? I have to question.

Doug laughs. Nothin', dad, nothin',
Forget what I sd. Months have passed.
I cut off most of my thin, gray ponytail.

The kitchen wall is sunflower yellow
While the whole house smells of
Dragon

Blood. This is not the Nation
I was born in, it's an
Entirely new world now.

I don't
Like
It. Where's the necessary, essential poetry

Of mind evolution, societal
Revolution turning culture, screaming
Mad fury for justice? Peace &

Love are dead. Flip the coin
Of light, the Sun, upside
Eternal tails, scorching radiation, war.

Damned, destroyed, mangled under black
Televisions, sand soaked blood red, caped
In tattered, ripped flags, boys, green bricks

Burst to black dust clouds
In night-vision binoculars. Turbaned
Skulls begin to rain from the heavens.

They are the
Bones of our
Freedom. To kiss

Who remains
The
Sky, hell, yes.

*

Some Are Saying


Some are saying we are yr children
Some are saying we are amerikan citizens
Some are saying we are the 99%
Some are saying we are exercising our rights
Some are saying we are constitutionalists
Some are saying we are playing a rigged game
Some are saying we are now living in a police state
Some are saying we aren't focused we're drugged
Some are saying we are dreaming dead dreams
Some are saying we are hypnotized zombies
Some are saying we are doomed to silence
Some are saying we are societal fringe dissent
Some are saying we are sodomizing billionaires
Some are saying we are disrespecting our military
Some are saying we are costing cities millions
Some are saying we are colliding with the beast
Some are saying we are forcing our views
Some are saying we are breaking laws
Some are saying we are representative of anger
Some are saying we are leftist nuts in the clouds
Some are saying we are dangerous seeds
Some are saying we are not saying anything
Some are saying we are chanting in the streets
Some are saying we are shit to the soul
Some are saying we are amerika's last chance
Some are saying we are bothersome but avoidable
Some are saying we are innocent fools & vagrants
Some are saying we are not dancing & laughing anymore




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