Diminishment (Music on Fulton Street)

31 Mar


Diminishment (Music on Fulton Street)




senseless with a sense of style…

Ny chto kletka, kakaya kletka?!”

                         –  Andrey Bystrov



I’m seeing it

fascinated again

it is a cold morning

around, surrounding

it is neither rain nor sleet

nor us

it is smoke

from angry throats

crimson, criminal and still burning

we creak and crack like coal


slowly becoming

the childhood of illusion

memory made impotent

a prelude to a play that never takes place

(a bang, bang bang

upon a window pane)

Eliot and Hughes sharing ribs

an emigration from sentimentality

a heart that does not need to beat to explain itself

too destitute to buy a medical text book


My teeth hurt so I know I’m close to death

this is the time to write

the next


drinking yourself out of life

like a holy sacrament

or bartering for an indulgence

you become the landlady

of the soul

a casual, curving lunacy

a blade next to a pop song

(a sing, sing sing

slung along a midnight sling)

either a genius or a drunk

complicated only by time pretending to be jewelry

and lips used for divergent bliss

a death that lives again

erasing grammar and good taste


Does is make sense

or is it a withering


Should it be shattered









exposed unto nothing but light and cages

stages and massive trucks

that haul stooges like myself from chopping block to block

in mockery of my profession

of lifting drifting pneuma unto natural progression

but all of it in such amused terms:

and I say that all this pretentious bullshit had to go

I hope that you’ve all enjoyed the show!

(Off the narrative strip

she dances off the page,


and did you expect

to end

this fascination

my frenzied frontier of self-annihilation

the dreaded father of deathly self-invention

all ends

we stir the strip

we slip awhile

we slowly languish for the call

of nothing deadly

only a ditty, some years

in a full imagination

with color full as August lips

and then I mentioned them again

again, again again

it is a close succession closing)


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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