Origins

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(Robert Rauschenberg, Overdrive)

 

They sent me off

with the lunatics.

 

The shattering laughter implied

I would be assigned a new identity

shortly.

 

Once they broke into

my dreams

I heard the bell

sound black.

 

There were already several inches

of rain.

 

Do not tell me

you don’t hear it.

Do not,

for one second,

lead me to that place you name

integrity

and then convince me

of silence,

then

help me, God I’m dying,

down here upon the shore,

I can’t think or feel anything

anymore.

That wasn’t supposed to be heard.

It wasn’t supposed to be know that

these were the words I prayed

even after I stopped praying.

 

There is nothing

where there once

were gallant and geological features

I could piece or stack,

or even chisel away at,

if that’s what I felt

I needed to do.

 

But now I am empty.

I am changed.

 

The gravel, the barbs,

the pooling rains

that settle within that space

drown in the yellow waves

of the sea.

 

 

 

 

Submarines

Georgia o'Keefe, Storm Cloud, Lake George, 1923

Georgia o’Keefe, Storm Cloud, Lake George, 1923

 

They surface prophetic / supernatural lacerations / surges / imparting bridges / to the next injury / or induced orgasm / plagued / like a frequency / or wavelength / like conventional bullets / ravaging / strong smelling menstrual blood / 

The oppressed need to get angry /

All of us are sick / we are all addicts / there is an albatross choking / every single one of us / and yet / in our humiliated rage / we broadcast / whose is uglier / whose is more mangled / and killed / by it still does not /  vanish our own/

You condescend/  that you refuse to come / to the rescue / of your rescuer /

Outside myself / I submerge / to atone the dark metal / the eruptions /  the delusional escapisms  / both above/ and below the surface /

We are dealing with / very dangerous people / who do not take no / for an answer /