SPLUTTER
I tire of these poets’ ragworm tongues.
Words dragged drugged as alibi for art.
Stabbed and stripped, a menu mocked:
One cup of spit, a bucket of bile, wrangled gristle,
Punctuating slice, the wet meat slap,
Served up alleluia teenage grit.
Sneer chant, hooligan thrust,
Smelling of quick ink and sweat.
Educated ejaculate, staccato excess.
Did we not do all that in the sixties, but better?
And Dylan before that with fire and form
And beauty in the boiling of the blood
And its exquisite deadly music
Throbbing word by word.
But it is all too soft now
In the smell of burning plastic
And the falling fruits on flicker screens.
A manufacturing of synthetic ecstacy,
Needled sublime in neon sewer arches.
A scribbled, dribbled sgraffito, rude and crass.
Self-lubricated splutter, skinned, pampered,
Hung out, drying, shrunken, mean.
Slick city strutters, the ravens watch unfooled.
—
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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