A PARTICULAR DEVICE
When we look so close at life inside us,
it simply becomes a tree of madness
where ghosts host and catcall,
swapping bodies and their nightmare mysteries
( from which we have never, ever, recovered).
Such strange animals. So many hands.
So many dances. So many attributes.
A collective deity ( or a pan Demonium).
There is a clue in it all somewhere,
a clue, a clew, a thread, a maze,
a spider, a monster, an eater of the charming ones,
a hungry axis, a deliverer,
a coin on his eyes and on his tongue.
The rite of the Opening of the Mouth,
escaping gravity through the small angled shaft,
homing on the singular, most singular star.
Dust to dust. An assay of hearts
before the animal-headed ones.
We are Jongleur, kindly admit us.
Remove our head. Give us the bliss of love and asses.
Return us whole to the world without end.
And let us cease to burn.
Let our mouths be filled with the cool waters.
Seven rivers from the Garden.
A lascivious sprouting of leaves, a splayed, secret hand of fig.
—
simonhlilly 
Review
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged city poetry, comment, comparison, contemporary poetry, criticism, doubt, fashion, individuality, judgment, myth of, Poetry, slick, style, tone of voice on November 28, 2015| Leave a Comment »
REVIEW
Ice moon
Punches light
Through brittle
Smoked sky.
Nothing is revealed
By word or movement.
Body’s aching
All the time
(As the song says)
As the song.
City words.
Skinny,
Low-fat language.
No need for pause
Or repeat.
Socio-
Political,
A smatter of
Classical reference,
Footnotes,
Hand gesture,
Erudite,
Excusing
All manners of
Genocide.
Overplayed is
The well-suited
Dictionary.
The poet
Understudied.
The poet
Misunderstood.
Trope, trapped
And clichéd.
Time to sink
To anonymity,
Forgetting,
Forsaking this clamour
For another, yet another
Point of view,
Validation.
Worms wriggling
Upwards to
Drown in puddles.
Picked off by
Black birds
With golden
Beaks.
A
Metaphor
Too far
Perhaps.
—
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