Sunday, September 16, 2018

Kit Kelen #989 - I was buried in a poem

989
I was buried in a poem 
 

no one would find me there

wrote the silly thing myself

like at the beach
when you heap the day over
so friends must dig you out with a beer
(all they have in their hands)

a moment there though you could
be left to the bluebottle tide
washed off like a message bottle

and read
like the far bloated
island of trash more than fish
set like a moon
like the stars

on dry land
I was in the papers – trail and pile
now and then caught fire

wagtail came to the window
but I couldn’t tell the time

had a sort of Sunday heart
sleeve hung
mouth of it there was
blue mooning
and Bush Week too

what I felt?
who could say?
your guess as good as mine

no fallacy intentional
but well there you go
greatness! so soon was I forgotten
words were away on the stone

I myself was weather in there
sport the morons watched

and then there were the times I drowned
took poison, bolt upright in electric chair
your hair on end everybody cared
it was tragic and you had to laugh

a little cough
the lights go out

there was a poem lodged in my brain
(that severed head with time for a haiku)

wonderful company there
in the poem
everyone you ever knew
every animal was calling

worlds were upside down or you were

there was affection of those times
and how we kept afloat

but the sun was always shining
that’s how it is to look back

mind righting itself
so the past adjusts

I had several lives in it

creatures were all made up
ready for the ball
and bounced along
and off the walls

if anyone asked –
because it’s a poem!
haven’t you been there there?

and what was meant?
who meant it?
how?

someone once peeped in
but they wouldn’t stay long –
some deficit disorder

it’s not like any other place
no one will find us there


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