I am, become,
B-movie villain;
victim to the whims
of campy dialogue
and a lack of subtle nuance.
Forget you my friend!
The Japanese have to go
Paris to feel this way
—a focalized weltschmerz.
All the world’s not a stage,
but we do seem to spend a lot
of time in the limelight
or apt at handling the ropes.
Shall I grow gills
to illustrate the point?
No way else to effectively
demonstrate a dull ache
in the lower left jaw,
a hollow spot in a full stomach,
the empty clang of a phone ringing.
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Under the bones of the sky she splinters into inadequate words
1 comment:
The printed "mind," the twists and turns of language, the wanton omissions, and the lovely fracturings: "Noun" and many other turtlepoems remind me of the wonderfully cracked, and yes, often dark, whimsy of John Berryman's Dream Songs. Some wise archivist at poemhunter.com decided the world would be a better place with a healthy free dose of the old boy online.
"Noun" is sublime. Peace.
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