Monday, November 14, 2016

Lachlan Brown #10

Your head grows an extra head

once again you draw me into your long-
limbed chaos like hand-pulled noodles or
the page’s chewy textures, theme song=
some richard strauss bravura, the crucial for-

mation of the entangled teenage mind,
the reanimation of ren and stimpy scenes,
that high-level violence we thought was behind
us forever, but still returns. These dreams,

rewind, then they make a huge fist that punches
me in the arm, you tell me that if you aim for
the legs the creature can’t follow, he launches
a mismatched set of lungs at us: the name or

names of the idiots who remain enthralled,
(few are chosen, though many are called)

NB: this poem is a response to Tony Curran's drawing: 'The arms of inflatable men (and women)'

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