Random, Abstract Poetry - The Sunday Edition

I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page. But it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork. I create the artwork. My darker, semi-schizophrenic alter ego creates the poetry.


A Wise Passiveness
The right to be never noticed.
Virtually blind?
Who became blind?

I had a memory.
Memory less prodigious.

The science to integrate form and matter.
Losing control,
Under psychotropic control.

He witnessed clearly.
The objects,
They might be rare animals.
Exquisite, for their own sake.

He recognized that.


Get Some Arms and Legs
Their experiments unsuccessful.
The dead ones,
They burn up?
Yes, you have to burn them.
Ten or twenty.

People might complain.
You tie them to a pole,
Then freeze them?
The fridge is full.

The professor a professor.
A French professor.

Open the fridge.
Arms and legs piled high.
Close the fridge.

Need I even ask?
Silence prevailed.

Academically sanctioned,
Forever.
The professor,
He went his own way.


He Might See Marginally
The visionary one.
Under the influence.

Seeing something.
Deeply inter-fused.

It might have been Venus.
Or the opiated skull of wisdom.

I'm guessing it was prophecy,
Or I would see nothing at all.


Heavy Bee Mode
Half asleep,
On the telephone.
Discussing the deal.

Killer bees.
I need some.
I will pay.
You must be careful.

Six hours later,
Expired.
An inversion of psychics,
Not physics.

It is winter.
The bees move fast.



Variations of This
Improvise every visit,
Not yet constructed.
Fact is not a factor.

Once controversial,
Now weirdly comfortable.
Neither is French.

Gather the delicate.
Ears, a lavender rose.
Hair, a red heart.

A Geisha lit a cigarette.
Outside it was pouring,
Gold glittered rain.



Not Thinking of Anything In Particular
An idiot-savant.
Walking aimlessly,
Collecting impressions.
Meticulously collected,
Strictly to be admired.

With a keen eye,
Always for the non-useful.
He collected hundreds.

Walking delirious.
Medicated by hashish,
Contemplating whatever.


Strangers Together
Art without art.
It is an exercise,
Of others creating.

Read, look, photograph,
Organize, enact.
One must participate.

I turn to surrender.
Sinister thoughts entered my head.

People hovered.
I soon become oppressive.

Watching the act,
I couldn't contain curiosity.

What are we doing?
My mind connecting with strangers.
This is different.
I didn't mind.

I felt a strange attachment.
As thought we shared something unique.

Physically found.
Relevance and meaning.
A rare experience.


Unforgettably Alienated
I think about alienation.
Go off to Canada.
No one to understand.
Sometimes murky is always clear.

Screaming poetically.
So much emotion inside.

Dissonant elements,
Complement one another.

Red, black and white.
Red and black.
Captivating simultaneously.


Divine Punishment For God
The young and seductive Chinese executioner.
She communicated pain.
Seeking, not to take pleasure,
But to dehumanize.

Obscenely erotic,
Unconventional pleasure.

Tormented, dehumanized.
Perhaps excessive.
Impossibly joyous and reckless.

Then, she called him God.


Shackled of Addiction
Loving his enemy,
Depressed, beneath the tie.
Beneath the stiff exterior.

An enemy,
Infinitely wrathful.
A damp, moldy cigarette.



What Does The Thread Mean?
I dreamt my own work.
I made it afterwards.

Cannibalism.
A human being.
A moral entity?

An artist of the word.
Part of a strategy.
A provocative metaphor,
Of consumption.

Describe relationships,
Power and influence.
Connect psychoanalytic theories,
To counter culture.

Re-enact what one might ask.
A group of ten.
Six on the floor.
Form a tight circle.
Thread their mouths and eyes closed.



Dead While Alive
Anti-social feelings,
And discontent.

He saw unhappiness as,
Limited happiness.
A perception tragically estimated.

Found dead in the asylum.
The cause of death was technical.
An autopsy disclosed:
Foot holding shoe.
A lethal dose.


Counterfeit Lucidity
Your interest in my lack of interest.
The diagnosis fascinates you.

You suggest I attempt lucidity.
The verses present my diagnosis.

Poetry and the literary world,
Mean nothing to me.
Nothing which compels me.

The verses I know.
Suicidal because of humanistic concern.
To remain undead and dream.
But not to have been born.

It is in the verse,
Listen.


Exactly As It Stands
The offer you extend,
Printing and fictionalizing my name.

Why revise?
My unholy brain.
The poems imperfect,
Disordered lines.

I paint to paint.
Every brushstroke imperfect.
I refuse to normalize.


Couldn't Identify The Scent
Her name was God.
My name is God.
You like that,
I can see.

Lick there now.
Swallowed,
A gram of cocaine.

The compulsion to,
Every day.
Sinuses congested.