the master as moloch (postcards from gethenna)

21 Jul

—————–

the master as moloch (postcards from gethenna)
 
most writers
don’t look back
as much
until they’ve reached the corner
they turn around
with hindsight
that they paint as reminiscence
in kaleidoscopic color
always a plimpton or chameleon
in one’s persnickety delusion
creating their own form of slightly fictional
running bare-assed out of the acheron of black and white
turned sepia, turned sulfur; smell
limestone, rotting teeth, decay, reconciliation with life,
bargain-begging for a breath, chalk, tutelage,
a new promise, possibility; the colors
they stream
a resurrection
you can see it
I guarantee it – you can fucking see it
look over there
it’s worth the mesmerism
a shiny golden token
sweaty palms, a Brooklyn arcade in the livid truancy of youth
more writers
look back when they reach the corner
but I’ve only gotten to the bodega
squatting in the middle of the block
but I still had to clock the carbons of shadows and light
reflected in the windows of the parked cars behind me
because I’m a counter of crumbs
and thoroughly paranoid to boot
and my way home has had more zigzagging
than a Russian anecdote about a swaying landloping lush
threnody or doggerel for a special occasion
reminding you that the four greatest words in our language are
peacefully in his sleep
this is where I find myself
unnaturally, ungracefully looking back
as though I’ve lived a life like gold
as though I’ve truly ever known a thing

————-

Leave a Reply

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


Copyright © 2010 - 2017 jacktumult.com All Rights Reserved.