Last night's storm
has left its artwork on the beach,
a postmodernist exhibition
of brown seaweed strewn in clumps
like hair on a barbershop floor,
broken seashells
and a fallen rainbow of plastics
strung out along the shore
where now an exhausted sea
licks the leftovers of a meal.
Chaos has been distilled down
to washed up artifacts
and red bottle caps, drinking straws
and spoons buried deep inside a ball
of yellow twine. I cannot make
much sense of what is on display
or glean from this haphazard art
a hint of meaning
other than in its making.
All seems uncoupled, specimens
torn from lonely souls, bits
and pieces coughed up
out of the exhaust of a huge machine
whose pistons pump and drive
a spinning wheel that has no purpose.
I pick up a plastic sandal
and wonder whose foot
it once belonged to, then put it back
and walk home
alone.
Categories:
postmodernist, art, sea, storm,
Form: Free verse
It's thrilling
But so is this poem
I want to take up a most profound authority
Throughout the neighbourhood
A village pastor
And various pursuits of a similar kind
Give me my own planet
My own earf
Postmodernist scumbag
And cowboys from hell days
I want to hear the new Beyonce album
Between the buried and me
I am a cloud cuckoo lander
And wear a wig when driving my car
And the drying clothes all in the attic
I haven't time to fold them away tidily
But even the thieves were forgiven
Categories:
postmodernist, addiction, anxiety,
Form: Free verse
Written November 18, 2013
I'm a postmodernist in an existential environment
Wondering what to do with nothing
What's the meaning of life?
To be swallowed up by entropy
Imploding what it means to be alive
Watch it rain down a marvelous parade
Of lights and sounds of what surrounds
To celebrate a Pound of Pynchon's pithy
Two words one line
No meaning at all
Canvases as bare as the backs of bureaucrats
Filling in the footsteps of giants
Going toe to toe with Pynchon
Feeling fists that Pound
But it's too bad
Got knocked out in the first round
So as gravity pulls me down
And rainbows surround
Take me out by the crying lot
Hang me by the tree that forgives
Along the sidewalk that never ends
Categories:
postmodernist, environment, life, philosophy, poetry,
Form: Lyric