HOMAGE TO GERTRUDE & ALICE: A Remix

.A wall is a wall
until it’s a pile of rubble
scattered on the ground
like pigeons on the grass.

        “Pass the brownies,”

Gertrude said to Alice
(in italics)

as they all fell
up the stairs
in single file
to bid adieu
to Lucy Church,

amiably.

______________________________________________________
SOURCES:
1. Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose by Gertrude Stein
2. The Alice B. Toklas Cookbook
3. Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein
4. Lucy Church Amiably by Gertrude Stein

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EXORCISMUS

death rules the night.
 
the back allys are its palace,
the dumpsters are her throne
the offal of the one-eyed jack,
their wedding feast.
 
death rules the night.
 
the one-eyed jack with no right hand
hides around the corner of the square,
draws a circle on the wall
with his bleeding finger,
and moves on.
 
numbered, numbered / weighed, divided
 
moves and having moved, moves on
through certain half-deserted streets
where one-eyed jacks
gather ‘round the sacrificial fires
of sacred trash cans
 
where the offal of the day
is immolated in the holy fires
of the holy ghost who haunts the dumpsters,
then moves on to greener pastures
 
where death shall have no dominion.
 
 
LGC
Big Bear Mountain
12.23.2016

ELIOT REMIXED

Are we in rats’ alley?
Have the dead men lost their bones?
Why do you never speak?

Speak!

Why do you never say?
Say!

I say —
Yes, we’re in rats’ alley.

And yes,
it’s where we’re standing,
that the dead men left their bones,
.
and then, having left them
where we’re standing,
died with a bang and a whimper.

 

 

 

the orphan bride

she’s falling from a high place
(her father’s place)
a gated place of angels
dancing on the details,
on the heads of pins
and pointy needles
and the graves of saints

(dancing on the graves of saints)

buried upside down in numbered graves
marking the miles for foot-sore saints and
horny pilgrims of the stations of the cross
along the road to hell and high water

where flying fishes piss and play
on the graves of saints and sinners
to the tune of

hey diddle diddle,
riddle me a riddle,

while the sphinx is falling from her place
among the weapons of heaven and high water
and hell and high water

and silver bells, all in a row.
.

LGC
Big Bear Mountain
12.21.2016

 

FURTHER THOUGHTS ON MEANINGLESSNESS

the ego
demands meaning
from the meaningless,

linearity
from the non-linear;

but the language & syntax
of the Autonomous Source,
the source of pure poetry,
is non-linear,
meaningless

& therefore,
beyond the ken
of the ego-driven

poet & reader.

only the insane
can write and fathom the poem

emanating from the uncharted chaos
of the Autonomous Source.

ON MEANINGLESSNESS (1)

        — For Moan Lisa, et. al.

he she
she he

up & down
& up again

the evaporating water goes,
returns & goes again
by drip by drop

(she he / he she)

& we,
we never stop,

(up & down / down & up)

top bottom,
bottom top

but we,
(she & he / he & me)

we.

never.

stop!

LGC
Big Bear Mountain
12.20.2016