Dark Matter

I.

Tonight on television
I watched a holy man again proclaim
God’s love for vengeance.
He was a hosanna in a dark suit.
I thought I recognized him
from a picture
I saw once.
He was not as red
as I remember.

I turned the channel as casually
as I might spit on a sidewalk
to get something out of my mouth
that didn’t belong there.

II.

This is the way
television works:
fact is shattered on their end
and reglued on our end.
Light never comes through it
the same way after that.

III.

The country is holding its head in its hands
and watching television. It hurts to look
and it can’t stop. The country can’t really see
what is different, what has remained
the same, it is no wonder that
the country lashes out, seeing white, no wonder
people yawn at the seething jowls of a bigot
seeing God’s wrath in an old man dying, a hurricane blowing,
no wonder hundreds of years of hate become suspicion and fear,
thousands of miles of body dragging road are broken in the summer sun,
hundreds of thousands of trees are draped in pious warnings,
millions of agreements, billions of agreements, billions and billions
of tacit approvals.

IV.

Turn off the power.
Turn off the lights.
Turn off everything.

In the dark,
count backwards from a trillion.
Count by tens, hundreds, thousands.
Count fast.

so tired i can neither think nor see straight.

there’s a massive poem brewing. a doozy. a monster.

i need sleep to wrestle with this one.

and all the various and glorious forms of sexual expression, despite the time we spend on them as artists and shills and suckers for the Corporate Media Monstrosity that uses them for its own nefarious purposes…as well as our own pure and untrammeled desire to spread the Great Gospel of Fuck,

despite all that,

fucking and its attendant practices are STILL underrated.

IJS.

it’s starting again.

no sleep. no appetite. no energy. the work ahead of me seems insurmountable.

and all at once that familiar voice…the one that assures me i deserve this…

goddammit. i will not let this happen.

Western

the poem
tugs the brim of his hat down,
spits into the dirt,
starts down toward where i’m standing.

as always he’s alone, anonymous,
unshaven, dust-riddled,
equal parts death and tenderness,
never sure himself about which comes next.

outlaws taught me
everything i know, but i pin the star
onto my vest and step into the street.

i feel my arm tighten.

Was me and 5 other hardy souls…but we had a good time.

Theme for next meeting, Jan. 25th: Possession.

Will post rest of the themes tomorrow — I feel like crap again and don’t feel like digging out the sheet. But we’re good through May, and I like this round of themes a lot.

ALSO: There is a large warm cat on this bed. He is dreaming, twitching, and making slurping noises. I shall slay him shortly. Anybody want the meat?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4603030.stm

Strangely enough, he can only serve 30 years under Spanish law, so I’m trying to figure out the value of the sentence.

First off — again, there is a SPEAK tonight. Please come.

Second…

Scary thought: Turkey borders on Iraq. Anyone considered the fresh hell that will result if the bird flu outbreak crosses the border?

Regards,
Nostradamus

Don’t forget….

SPEAK tonight!!!!!

No theme, since no one was there last time to help pick new ones…so you’re home free tonight.

And a warning: if no one shows up tonight? I’m seriously thinking about shutting the series down.

So there.

a short poem of no more than twelve lines, reflecting who you were at eighteen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eighteen

Eighteen is a gate. Nineteen
is a shadow. Twenty is a locked
door. Twenty-one is a blank
wall. I’m no different from anyone else
at eighteen: certain that I’m different
from everyone else, certain that
music is a torch, certain that fucking
and doping are some kind of key, and
hopeful as hell
that a pen in the hand will work as well
as dynamite.

Read The Zero Point Zero Regular Coulmn!

It’s better than poetry!

After a year of being away from it, I’ve revived the Zero Point Zero column.

When Ryk, Sou, and Victor started their gotpoetry columns, it stopped (at last) the nagging feelings of guilt I had had since I walked away in late 2004. I was burned out at the time; didn’t think I could keep going with it and was feeling like I had stopped doing a good job.

It was the right decision, but as a good Catholic boy, I still felt guilty.

I’m coming back to it now from a different angle. First off, it’s going to be a monthly column (a weekly one was insane — what the hell was i thinking I was doing back then?). Second, I’m bringing the focus back on to my personal proccess — a monthly examination of how I approach the creative process on a single poem. I expect it will also lead me to consider more general issues. I’m already thinking of an extended thesis on the relative benefits of Scotch and Bourbon whiskeys for writing two-fisted poems o’ masculine despair a la Hemingway.

Some of the old examination of the scene, of the place of poetry in the community, etc., I think is being handled far more thoughtfully in Victor’s column than it ever was in mine. I’m going to stick to what i do best — navel-gazing introspection and existential dread as expressed through ruthless self-critical recrimination.

It’s gonna be fun, and I hope you keep reading us all.

Read How to Succeed as a Failing Writer!

It’s better than success!

Read Chrysanthemum – a serial novel!

Sea Sponge!

 
Read Bilbio – Other Bible Stories!

It starts in the Old Testament, and evolves from there…

In addition to the monthlies, there are also two more sporadic columns by Paul David Mena on the art of haiku and a generous helping of the wit and wisdom of Joe Fusco, the Central Massachusetts area’s favorite poetic supermarket manager.

Read Got Haiku? – the Regular Column!

Because 17 syllables are over rated!

Read Aisle 9 – the Regular Coulmn!

Because retail has killed lesser men!

It’s gonna be fun, and I hope you keep reading us all.

I know I speak for all of us when I say that I am forever grateful to John Powers and gotpoetry.com for putting up with me, and with putting up all of us in the first place. gotpoetry.com is a great resource that can become so much more if the community as a whole gets into using it. I’d like to see that happen; I’d like to think these columns are a way of making it an even more valuable Web destination for us all.

From currently way too many people to count:

Let me make you a Top 5 list. Post a topic, list, category, whatever, in the comments, and I’ll post the top 5 according to me in the comments. Then post this offer in your own journal.

(PS: Taking off shortly, so it may take a bit)

when you get your Stooges dose to open the week on a Monday morning: “Raw Power” followed by “Gimme Danger.”

This station, by the way, is called Punk 45 Radio, and is coming through iTunes via http://www.radiopower.org.

I heard “Borstal Breakout” earlier, and Sham 69’s “If The Kids Are United…”

I’ll get off the nostalgia kick shortly, but this is my comfort music, and i’m COMFORTABLE right now.

THRASH ON!