Violently Interrupted Poem

/, Blesok no. 66/Violently Interrupted Poem

Violently Interrupted Poem

To the Gardener
To Female Tailors (In Plants and At Home)
Every Woman Adores a Fascist (To Sleepy Housewives)
To the Neighbors (This Morning My Flesh Is a Lowered Flag)
To the Lost Halves (A Violently Interrupted Poem)
God Is A Big Breasted Switchboard Operator Using A Silky Voice to Tell You That the Number You Have Dialed Has Not Been Recognized
Minestrone
Elvis

When steel cranes dropped the last nuclear power plant on the city
your origami heart burst like a glass ball

which Ted Nugent’s high C capes into shiny emptiness. yes. that’s how it started:
a film in which a woman, a vulgarly fit young woman,

finds her lost half, yes, that’s how it started.
a street turned into Finland, the northern fleet made of paper

swallows the asphalt faster than the cracks the earth sends
from inside to make it smile, an executioner, cuts sharp replies

like fingers; the air so transparent I want to see it. absence,
the poem’s main feature, makes way for the bodies of children, who retreated

back into houses, carefully, after one call. the smell of just flushed water which,
a bellhop on cocaine, tirelessly goes up, hides, in nostrils

founds a disgustingly liberal syndicate, in the end stays calm, for a second, somewhere high,
and falls down again. absence. a triumphal vacation which you never take.

tea: crumbs dipped into teeth and the surface that stood still is on the move,
our halves find us or remain hidden. all that is real surpasses us.

voice, your own narrator, says that you are now complete
in a safe tone it moves across the canvas, like a psychoanalytic Buddha, and knows

knows that all is never lost. a rhetorical corkscrew that pierces your eyes. sucks your
brain out, that’s how it ends. all the psychoanalysts and zombies and Buddhists the moment they appear

destroy every attempt at an end. only Christians are worse. even after the Apocalypse
something happens.

AuthorMarko Pogačar
2018-08-21T17:22:57+00:00 June 25th, 2009|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 66|0 Comments