Facts

Painting by Gerhard Richter

This is empty.

It is not words.

No.

Don’t let it fool you.

It’s up to its tricks……..

Twisting meanings……..

And it’s ugly…….

Take a look!

Little symbols on a page.

Not artistic at all!

Graffiti is better

Especially when stenciled.

For it is a pattern, only a facsimile.

A silhouette

Upon a surface

 

This is not a room

Where women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

A rose isn’t necessarily a rose isn’t a rose necessarily

There are no eyes on me….and

Still I rise? Nope……I’m sitting down

This poem does not depend

On the red wheelbarrow

This poem is not at a station at the metro

Nor, is it going to be a Cantos

There will be no singing of the body electric!

 

No bee buzzing

And no bird chirping

Is going to happen here

This poem will kick

Out any attempt of alluding to something

Nor will it allude to nothing

That’s even worse

Metaphors are purely accidental

The events of this poem are fictitious

Any similarity to another poem

Living or dead is merely coincidental

 

If you are reading into this poem

Deeply.

Stop!

You are on the wrong path

Go put on lipstick

Or do your nails

Check your internet dating service

You have messages there that are more poetic

Like walks on the beach

A crackling cozy fire,

There are poets on there that say….

“Pearl Jam, you too? I would have never guessed.”

Recite cereal ingredients

To someone you live with

Who’s in some other room, somewhere

In the house you live in.

Maybe there’s a good poem in the garage.

Under an oil can…… or

Next to that box with your 2007 tax returns

That’s time better spent.

 

Scratch your ass for all this poem cares

It’s not looking at you

Not yet, at any rate.

Maybe next time you read it

It will give you a discerning glance.

With its bland expression

With a telltale one eyebrow raised

But,

Don’t think it means anything.

It might be looking at someone else instead

We poems have a way of doing that.

We’re just bitches.

Just thought I tell you the facts.

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Motion Detector

Photo by Elan Mudrow

We come with a penumbra

A lighter ring around the internal

Within the greater external

An outer fuzziness of contact

That communicates an abstract

Unstable in its assumptions

Rewarded for its divinations

It detects movement, motion

Perceives, discerns, distinguishes

Identifies, classifies, establishes

Bound with embossed hard cover,

Inside, soft pages to discover

Organic in its innocence.

Mechanical in its wickedness

When solidified, condensed into form

Becomes art we put forth as charm

 

 

(If I listen to your singing, eyes wide open, would I recognize the shape of your voice? And if so, would it be my experience or would your song be watching me?)