Litkicks Message Board Archive

My Mayakovski Mind

Posted to Action Poetry

I am embalmed
With the question of contingency.

And when I curl
And rise after night’s rest,
I feel a vertigo longing
And rest a moment before
I let -this-
Catch me.

And quick as a brain aneurysm
In the young
I find myself in basic chores,
Ripped eagerly away from
The fundamental cause
Of naïve infinity
And am lashed across the
Eyes in rabies-throat anxiety-


With the providence of a girl
Happy in ignorance
Of the golden trails
I could weave for her.
And tales.

Yearning to be wanted
I collapse into caves
For study-
Claws grip pens
And scribble incessantly
In the dirt in
The strangling dark.

Ladies and Gentlemen,
With extreme pleasure
I am proud to present,
Moon-soaked in beam consciousness,
Long loved in dark silence,
Long lived in self-styled-reverence,
Sun-broken mirror’ed head of the sky,
The eager hope of God’s invention,
The quester of provincial perfection,

In the very back of the forest the chirping whirs closed
And nothing but…
Becomes unbearable
And eventually-

A Voice Arises