there's a man with no life in his eyes,
there's a man with no life in his eyes.
it had been a long time since i wrote mediocre poems,
without a sedative, overtly sensitive and too self-conscious
for my liking, unlike all others: under the influence of
a more potent Bacchus elixir, as is due further
north, building up on some sort of ethnic
mythology - it's just that i know it's not actually
self-consciousness, but precautionary measures,
in the sense: i can't be ridiculous - i remember
reading the poetry foundation and knew it was
poetry straight from the coffee houses and tea parties:
no ridiculousness and certainly more sensitivity;
i haven't been down this alley for a long long time;
and it's bothersome, just a little, just a little
too much for me: a poet with a repertoire of 6 accessible
poems to browse over, a poet in residence at some
university, but only a repertoire of 6 accessible poems
to browse over - so much love on the page, so much
nature, so many relationships, religiosity, living,
hobbies, art...
i can only refer to my porcelain doll eyes,
i remember when that one word was whispered
into my ear, i was at a party in Edinburgh, promise
of a lively affair, psychotically shopped in a clothes
shop buying all the cotton glitters of fine prints...
but at the party i ended up a potato sack like hood
made from hemp - the minute that word was whispered
into my ear, an electricity ran through me entirely,
my eyes rolled back and a mini-epileptic shiver shook
me yet enabling me to still stand - the mini seizure
stopped and the porcelain eyes were revealed for me
to peer from behind - i seemed to have lost the depth of those
prior eyes masqueraded youth, naiveness, hope,
a bearable kind of expression of love and solidarity,
ambition, jubilation at physical exertion: the basic tenets
for a thirst for life... but everything changed in a flash of
lightning... i rushed out from the party in rage...
walking from the door of the party (an apartment, below
which were shops) i smashed the window to a hairdressing
shop... run into an alley, and threw everything from my
pockets on the floor: coins and a polish citizen card...
after all i wasn't exactly in favour of holding a dual-
citizenship... then certain things revealed and certain
hidden, audacity over scholarly dogmatism, comparison:
surah al-baqarah
ألف لام ميم
a l m
l ā ī
i m m
f seen this sort of code
in a preceding book...
hmm, where did i see it?
ah!
Χ ξ ς
c x s
h i i
i (g
m
a)...
" " "
but then there's another
صاد
s'
ā
d
as there is also
" " راء
r
ā and however many variations,
but the principle is the same as the encryption in
the greek book... oh man, i wish i could write cool stuff,
about nature and all that stuff about being macho on
Machu Picchu with a boyscout survival guide...
i just can't rub of my initial indoctrination to a certain
degree with a religion, up to the age of sixteen we
used to prayer in the morning, the *our father drilled
into us - hence i justify my interest in these matters
because of that - just spotting one thing following through
to another with a similarity - you can hardy deny
the Quran is not following from what was established prior,
although that's where my interest ends...
just looks like another jigsaw puzzle... i just haven't
seen any literature on the topic... and i'm not going to
transliterate hebrew, for that numbers game whereby
the original Gematria meaning i already described about
the geometry of letters, and how they all fit through
O... the open mouth... M can fit through the mouth
and also turn into a bee caught between the lips,
and can also be lodged in the larynx when you hearing
mumbling with the mouth closed.
