final draft - or maybe second-to-final draft - maybe - revised 10-18-2012
(i may never be done with this damn poem)
the hoax
so these scientists, these crazy
what’s wrong with you scientists
put an ancient vase on a record
player, applied a laser
and some super-science, digital
scanners, noise filters and
crossed fingers (f.m. –
frequency modulation – funky magic)
set up wine glasses and crock
pots with little cocktail weenies,
and
held the world’s greatest strangest séance
they made sculpture giggle
imagine
their surprise
six thousand year old young
girls laughing so hard they leave grooves,
not gods,
not wizards, just girls,
children of clay,
transformed to static,
the liquid of joy,
tossed off the tongue,
and pressed back into clay – i want to believe
because
its so absurd,
because i want to know laughter
is eternal
in the fossils and footprints of
my ancestors,
in the homemade toys i slingshot
into the future,
i want to believe in that grace
i feel like breaking locks,
putting crowbars on the laws of physics,
melting
museums, knocking down highbrow walls and
rich
asshole vaults,
set the trophies free, let them
levitate,
shimmering and singing and ringing
true
i
should rescue this princess buhkara,
reclaim it from the cold racks
of this thrift store
too precious to leave on the
floor, this will be my bed,
deep
blanket of love,
and i’ll sleep and dream in the
footprints of elephants,
rest warm in the hands of
mothers and daughters stitching laughter,
hear persia prick her finger
i can stare hours and hours into
vinny’s whirling stars,
big
wind-fist punching the moon,
his torment and deliverance,
get eye to eye with the brush
strokes, ear to ear
with the storm, hear his mind
screaming – blueblueblueblueblue!
i need
more sky-shaking blue!
i saw a man get kicked from the
galley today
for crossing the ropes and
groping the art,
he wanted to lick all the
paintings,
convinced
they are made of cinnamon and raspberry jelly,
pork chops and cheesecake,
and the
gentle mint of eucharist
and i want someone to drink this poem,
drink it and taste my fever, my
tire-fire, my wide open eyes leaping into
frequency modulation,
drink and denature mystery, all
riddles coming unglued,
know them
and
feel them
stronger than everclear
imagine
space and time never forgetting
a single note of music, every echo
endless,
ocean
in a seashell, highway in a hubcap, giggling girls
in a
spice jar
imagine
somewhere in a distant future,
deep in the long-gone farewell of man,
travelers from a more flexible
universe,
bubble-headed
paleoacousticologists on safari,
some
crazy what’s wrong with you alien race,
finding our remains,
finding this world a dead relic,
an artifact, a soul jar bursting with ghosts,
spinning
like clay on a potter’s wheel,
point the laser at this mess of
human milieu and discover
the human voice
rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
and e pluribus unum
and tastes great - less filling
and i’ll have a blue,
blue-blue-blue-blue christmas
and mr
watson come here
and this puke stinks like beer
and the poets lie too much
and today is a good day to die
and frog leaps - sound of - splashing
and i
want to fuck you like an animal
and let them eat cake
and
screw you guys i’m going home
and a pocketful of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down
and everything was beautiful
nothing hurt
vangogh - starry night
