by Derrick Stuart.. In Memory of Memories of Carly Dale Moroski (ex-girlfriend) If I'm still awake during the paper dawn I'll throw away all my sweet, sickly industry I'll let my memories break my bones I'll surrender to its seedy cult I'll wipe away its alms With the ghost labor of my arms I'll show you all the notation of the dead songs O God! The way they writhe The way their choking lyrics plead As if they were still alive... And out there, on the mundane phantasmagoria I'll plant my seed-ship to sail To lands not construed of crude matter When in warmer climes, it shall grow Its vegetation will lead us all home O, even you can read a map Follow its cool lines to broken destinations Our lives are a treatise on cartography It began to grow a mouth In the dream of spring's soil Whispering hopeful parables, dryly To children of electricity Bored to the brim with these revelations Sound is a sad image that fades Youth stretches you & makes you take a taste To share in the melody of its blindness A catalog chronicle of cosmic provinciality A planet yawning itself to diminishing Apocalypse Walking down oil slick streets Your mind & soul & body long divorced Seoul is Cardiff is Detroit The sun & sky have purchased each other Semen screams active streets Soft art keeps them content machines Aloft laughter is growing vacant Its innocence forever retired We can only now live in terrific pulsations Slide in & out of them with anonymity Unify masturbation & prayer Decay alone listening to the empty call One lies ever so still Making cruel exchanges to sample unconsciousness. The King of Fleas rules this Synapse City A slave-monarch, he invites you to the Rape In hesitation you ponder taking the tickets I remember when the world was a virgin cinema, I flung my face to the monster protest. I'd wallow in magnificent cerebral lusts, kissing the insects, caressing the flowering corpses. I'd erect wet cities; on each street corner I could be seen, offering free delicious fresh meat to the Future. I don't know. Alls I knows is I caught telepathy when I was very young, I couldn't see The Lions crowd the senses. It forced me to flirt with black magic-- for I was, back then, too shy-- I was afraid of the symphonies I created. I murdered responsibility. I could not face myself in mirrors as the Master of these chaotic beasts. I did not, at first, realize the curse of verse. My magic spells made me wake up in unblinking motels. They would grow weak, they made me wrap myself in the woolly eiderdown of distances. Every item of the world produced in me the pathetic tremble and wild weak cry of a bratty child. Time, for a time, pieced my form back together from the washed-up gutter of some mental Nile. For a while, Isis, of the smokestacks' realm, My brain would go on adventures Thru your hermetic blouse & the folds of your holy skirts Lost in the oblivion of salvation. One can, in his shabby stealth, Progress, with brilliant bullshit, To & thru The Perilous Chapel But there's no cup to be found To restore the wet dream of plenty To this country's fickle fading ground If you want to see what hollow heroes have died to see, close your reason's eyes, and follow me to an empty colorless room No rational gravity, no comfort furniture Floating now & forever, pristine, hopeless Voices impotent of contact In a great gaping Void of Perfection Life without end is now on sale. Life without end is now on sale. In the country of theatre Where our dear home hearts lie The Archdruid in another B-production Leads the necessary sacrificial rites The Harlot and The Crone offer'd Accept this, our devotion, our only zenith O starving Adonai, dwelling each day in indifference O Elohim thou that cultivates our sparkling madness. The year of my cancer I was to see all the sacred cities Make it my mission to make myself a part of them Become a secret center Integral as much as the elevated trains or forlorn local accents Harvesting information for some Unknown Intelligence --some loftier, & lowly others with no breadcrums, bereft a sun, suspicious of compasses I'd make a delight of my espionage I'd ramble these reports at every tipsy party Which creeps thru the swamps 'til morning But my path was blocked by a bleeding mountain a festering tumor of Currency I was afraid to touch its sharp slopes A multitude from Southwark, faceless mass of energy Flock'd around this revered peak I turned my face I became cruel & frustrated By real distractions I could not proceed forward The roads back were a lie My origins are a dark delusion They never existed. I made them up. How would I steal transcendence? What could a thief like me give to the poor? How could I be such a sentimental sadist? The days would be leaking accidental continents My clouds, then, wouldn't be wearing trousers They'd embrace the fact of their pagan nudity Politics was just an embryo then Seeking the photosynthesis & warmth of bus depots I'd give it all away to the awkward angels! Come, rotten lover, thou pale project'd spirit Let's be merciless to each other! I wanted us to destroy things in our crystal love We could have frightened the still Universe Thou shapely shade, reclining in breezy tragedy I was never even sure if you, idol thou, existed I assumed there would be, in the rhythm of our merging blood, A sort of wisdom, the secret forbidden pause to dizzy velocity An exit from the tunnel vision, illuminat'd Paved with the darkness of winding realities. Lost One, when The Lamb opens The plain book of Doom His ancient sorrowful eyes will read white space-- the final line! DESTINY, the blank page. He will turn back, reread the past -- Incoherent images, lost lights, disorienting oxygen doldrums, a blur kingdom This will make him grow tired of literature & hide himself forever from his expanding Fantasy. Good buy-- the dour transit of the future Goodbye, Love's demons licking You, busty ghost, Oracle of false hopes Holding in a box Love's holocaust Goodbye to the nauseating stench of home, repressed birthplaces I'm not very good with goodbyes, really What does one say at infinite departures? To the shadow of a parade of wrathful carciatures So many questions cloud the mind-- -- do I have all that I need for the trip? -- am I prepared to greet the terror of a thousand channels of bliss?
beautiful. breathtaking. simply wow! that's near left me speechless... so sad, yet such beautiful language and wonderful insights; a tribute of the highest caliber, imo. you've definitely got some talent. looking forward to reading more of your work... welcome to the poetry forums and thanks for sharing this... truly an amazing piece
