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