MAXIM NO.30
These are not times for poetry
These are times for Windows XP
And pure administration
BIRDMAN
Im a candidate for a nuthouse;
I write poetry and philosophy
Of various grades.
I let strangers through my front door
Welcome them all royally.
Im a candidate
For the asylum
I converse with dirty angels
Wearing overcoats of fire -
We speak in tongues
Even though I never clean my windows
I record the way throats yearn and
The ways light touches Earth.
ANGLES 1
I am introverted -
I am the circle inside
A square.
I don't do maths
But I want to be
An equalateral triangle
That manifests mind heart and will
But at the moment
My sides don't add up
Im a shaky scaffolding -
I don't lean towards Heaven.
SPLIT THE EARTH (Sunrise at Doves Nest)
Im sat inside this
Dome of time -
I am so cold.
I suspect my balaclava
Looks stupid
This moment arrives
I am essentially on my own
I wait, fermenting inside -
I wait for gold
To split my eyes open
All is primordial, unsculpted.
Yet gradually the upper branches
Of a pine give way to the Sun -
In confirmation a skylark sings to me.
19/11/07 @ 22:44