Friday, January 4, 2019

Kit Kelen #1101 - two minor works - the poem will vanish shortly & new signature piece


1101
two minor works
for Pamela and Ross Griffith
considering certain things discussed yesterday and the day before


1
the poem will vanish shortly
a little addition to Hamlet’s quintessence of dust

once it was a tune
come to me
thin as the air
but came to be

it doesn’t blow away
or burn
no one drowns in it

goes to the crux
to the forest of words

it would to air again
and gone

the poem will vanish shortly

we lack the time
it takes to say

soon it is unspoken
passes understanding

and I, and you, my reader, too

the sullen cunning craft of it
an ancestry of woe

it goes into the pile

delete myself first
(let’s call that Plan B)

it’s like one lost to the courts
as in Kafka’s trial

set a value on the poem now
in moments – that’s our currency

your work’s remembering to breathe

and I and you will vanish too
an innocent cough for attention

none of this
‘ye know not the hour’
this poem is vanishing now

the poem goes
in the pile
in the file

so many bytes lost
to the meal we are

obscurity I cultivate
oblivion’s a blast
and coming to a solar system
nearer than you’d care to ask

once it was a tune
and would to air again
and gone

we’re in it
just this now
this once

the poem will go shortly

I and you will vanish too
and soon
and soon
and soon





2
new signature piece

we little ones
far from few
not much noticed
rarely missed

please ourselves obscurely

nor our anger
nor our griefs
our loves
are tenanted with lies

who could keep up?

and that’s just where we have believed

to build a statue nameless
and so a cenotaph
our dream

we, citizens of heaven
have to imagine this world

or else

we send out the signal
we receive

hot
cold
seasonally adjusted

we the precious many
not much watched
as yet

could have been detected
under the microscope
or come from very far

we work the ropes
and pulleys
tug and a rub
and a nudge
to go on

hey presto

no one ever knows
secrets of the hearts we hold

each by other clinging tight

we have that toxic glow

days in the sun
and our boat – Dolce Vita
go under
we drown
in the hot desert sands

no one sees

pinhead hipsters
angels all

it’s always a dotted line
so sign

no one sees the world go round
and yet the thing’s agreed

wasn’t it fun to be here?
weren’t there laughs on the way?

your moniker here –
that’s surely a given

scribble a name
and you’re gone







No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.