Skip to main content

friday poem (no edits one go)

We’ve talked a little about the horsepenis and change and luck and the way things come down. There are cartoon voices and a jangle of keys at the station. The penis is abandoned or postponed for old age. Sop up the sperm of these swift cheap words. Through any window piss is raining from the sky. Sons and daughters ninety times out of a hundred piss on the streets with knapsacks and Polish mullets. It is easy to put a hole in the ground and make a great piss. What’s seen is sucked away and what remains is a big Katowice train station toilet. 1zl per entrance and exit. Is this a sad romance? Nothing is really uncovered. Stories directly from the drain. Perhaps doing that, or this, and pissing it all out and everything.

What do you think about a penis with eros seated on your shoulder? What you think about a vagina who says you’re still beautiful? Singer there may be more than one kind of a curse. I have a necklace of bloody teeth for this cure and a complex airport diagram with lights on the bathroom wall. What is the nature of this shutdown? A fermenation of white on dark. Shuttered lid schooled in the skull rubble through which we suck our thumb and don’t tinkle. This is not a result of resisting hell. A hillhigh mouth of grating teeth. We could have a glass of self-indentification with the night else draft a running collage of real zingers. Words spin on the down beat. You are now entering the moon’s white back.


William Keckler said…
I like these, Marcus, but think the binary stars are pulling apart...i believe they are two poems, the two paragraphs...the second is much stronger right now....great closing line on that one...erotic and deathly at the same time...Lorca was good at that...combining the erotic and the deathly...
postpran said…
Thanks William :-) You are right!!! I see now they are indeed two poems. I really appreciate your insightful comments. Nice to know someone is out there!!!


Popular posts from this blog

poets reading poets

There are on A now: Andrews, Antin, Apollinaire, Ashbery

A project from the Atlanta Poetry Group. Check it:

The Poetry of Tao Lin

Another Ireland by Robert Archambeau

This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).

Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…