work maze Marxist Narnia
The corridors at work are a maze.
A labyrinth of dead ends.
I took a wrong turn and ended up in a 1970s Eastern European concrete dystopia.
It was like a grey cold Narnia.
But with more Marxist ideology and secret police.
By the time I got back to my desk my tea had turned cold.
Eatmorewords's Blog 
I CALLED THE SECRET POLICE
the nice lady said that they were occupied
preparing for Christmas
other people claim that poems can light up
like Christmas trees
or light up on Christmas trees
over-indulgence for the holiday season
special lubricants to rub on the sentences
unconventional punctuation
readers complain about the use of capitals
their purpose violated
poetry rolled in perspiration
DISEMBARRASSED
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JIG-SAW PUZZLE POEMS
putting them together again
all the women in your life
locked inside a moving car
women who carry their own cadence
women who have supplied you with punctuation
———-the mystery is the pounding from the outside
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I CALLED THE SECRET POLICE
someone had to report the neighbors
and their tight-rope acrobatics
YES—-the novelty wears off
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the secret police are no longer secret – how can they be if you have their number?
– did you find it online?
– do you have a contact?
– the tightrope walkers ropes have frayed – they will drop
now or later but it will happen
They will drop
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i received messages from the past
words written by younger self
future self read them
– old stuff locked in old car –
carried cadence carried sound echoed around – they supplied me with nourishment and meat –
the pounding sounded like it was coming from outside but it was inside, hammering away –
– the future me will laugh and piss myself –
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BABY BIRD, I KNOW PEOPLE WHO HAVE A DISDAIN FOR THE ANTICS OF PUNDITS
AND POETASTERS
THUS I HAVE THE NUMBER FOR THE SECRET POLICE
it is heresy to deny the Secret Police
easily imitable—-the school of hard knocks
——————misfit adolescents
colorless dongs—free of filth and abuse
washed and washed again
tourists with large dongs
mausoleum scented—disturbing foreskins
intimate fumbling efforts
what makes life valuable ?
****the passage of time
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just try to leave your little world (zoo)
troubled grammarians are watching you
please keep your private nouns private
—————-just think of all the experiences
that were wonderful one time only
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the schools of hard knocks – the only knock I know is the knock of the secret police
– knuckles wrapping on wood
– knuckles wrapped with wood- catholic interrogation techniques – baby bird in the best
the worm in the hole
– I fumbled through the first 27years of my life
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WRITTEN BY ADMIRERS:
all that is heart-breaking in this world
like a poor choice in shoes
the pity of heartlessness
snake bites in the shallowness
of your lower half
math instructors with delicacy
and exactness
THE NEEDLE POINTS NORTH
poem after poem
words that are a pleasure
in themselves
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scary memories about goat footed father
trying to slip a balloon on his dong
lovemaking without meaning or emotion
spices of the heart mixed with anger
poetry being self-discovered
rather old-fashioned
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– when did the thin line between good and bad become a thick wedge? a splintered wedge
– she told me when she was young as wished life came with a receipt
– the woman and the coffee shop spelt names wrong on purpose
– Mary became Marry
Colin became Colon (and so on and so on)
– he bark in the tree and the bark of the dog
I loved her from now to then
it’s all experience
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the snake bites in the shallows
swollen ankles
loved one required to suck out the poison –
– as we moved through the forest
the compass needle spun and we held hands – that was pleasure enough even though we knew we would appear on a satellite screen somewhere –
the secret poetry of movement
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I don’t have to tell you that the people at the hotel
were upset about the homemade tobogganing
the wedding party rigged up last night
I know there were some minor injuries
and a bit of property damage
and it must have been hell
cleaning up the cake
marriage is marriage
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I saw a job offer in the post
people with self-hatred
wanted
to measure self-hatred in others
———–
which shirt should I wear ?
the one that makes me look like a dwarf
or the one that reeks of sentimentality
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the people at the hotel were always upset – people doing things in their rooms
moving furniture
cigarette butts in the sink
pages removed from the bibles
– a thousand different a hairs in the corner
marriage is marriage
dissolved in a second
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the shirt without stains
the one that doesn’t make you look like Magnum PI –
– self hatred is a trait that cannot be measured by any outside third party –
sentimentality is only meant for birthday cards
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————-MIDDLING SHIRTS
not in themselves very much one thing
or the other
I wanted to look chiseled and strenuous
zero possibility of being overpowered
my flower intact
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private exercises or public playthings ?
words on WordPress
LIFE APPROXIMATELY EXPERIENCED
written and meant to be read
each reader with his/her private fancy
each reader being 100% correct
in what they think is correct
intelligible words have precise meanings
****many mysteries are buried surrounding a good dictionary
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when I wore the middling shirt* I looked overweight
wrought with anxiety
– never chiselled
– my flower wilted as the buttons popped
*the pen holder in the breast pocket made me look like a computer expert
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private exercises or public playthings ?
words on WordPress
AND THUS HE IS KNOWN AS A PERPETUAL ADOLESCENT
written and meant to be read
discipline is not enough
the reader needs deliberate discipline
not just difficult but also painful
the inevitability of failure
****daily self-involvement with the outdoors
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the entire wedding was an interpretation
like one of those school plays
the outcome
based on a weatherman’s prediction
even after the ceremony
her loneliness was to remain in the shadows
****I saw it once when we were young
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Peter Pan poetry
perpetually pushed past public playthings
I wanted to go back to nature I wanted to escape the city I wanted to see nothing
no busses
no people
no bricks
self involvement just means me talking to myself
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I asked the librarian for undiluted Peter Pan poetry
she said, “Serpents bargain for that sort of thing outside Hades”
the townspeople burn all perpetual poetry in Florida
perpetual adolescence is difficult to fathom
fraught with darkness and spontaneous erections
speaking a different genital language
****a worthy specimen the young dong
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what does one say
when mother asks
“Why do you have all those posters
of Magnum PI hanging on your walls ?”
****cross-fertilization (?)
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those Floridians and their desire to burn perpetual poetry
what on earth do they know??
the sun must have burned them – done things to their brains –
in a town fraught with darkness people try and hang onto childhood
– a childhood they don’t want to remember but one they can’t forget –
I went to Hades for holiday, did you get the postcard?
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any slippage with the mask
and the detectives want measurements
Peter Pan poetry
white male readers
with pale black moods
that backtrack to days of mud
and schoolbooks with missing pages
of course you had delicate hands
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JOHNNY BOY THE MAPMAKER
HEAD OVER HEELS
IN THE EMPLOYMENT
OF GENDERED AND SEXUALIZED GEOGRAPHY
OPENING AND LAYING BARE
THE REMOTE AND MORE HIDDEN AREAS
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talk of odd offspring
actual sex with an ape
countless times
the man
the woman
overdeveloped curiosity
amorous inclinations
amorous transgressions
ungovernable
———-Caucasian skin flakes on the pillow
multiple layers of white—white fascination—white fear
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thin white men standing in a line
desperate sorry for affection
strangely outdated trousers
circus tent cloth
casket silk
window curtains from Fifth Avenue
weak monologues of rumor and speculation
possessive pity-love and painful remorse
poetic overkill
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the mask couldn’t slip as it had been worn for too long
it had become fused with the flesh
all things merged
peter pan poetry and the feeling yo could fly
dad as captain hook
the bogey man at night
the delicate hands worn down by splinters
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I recall the blood-curdling screams as SHE tried to remove the mask
———————————————-as SHE tried to pull back the foreskin
priapic singlemindedness
endless radar traps for folks in a hurry
a repertoire of people reading
dollar store existentialism
dad with his scar-contours
self-identification—that missing hand
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It’s the moustache mother, it reminds me of grandma
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I slept peacefully with no dreams
I awake and dreamt all day –
the topography of everything
the closer the contours the steeper the mountains –
her body I can remember
– fingers walking across her landscape
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ALL I KNOW:
when you touched
the sweet wrappers
of her privates
it made the sound
of crushed cigarette packs
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odd off-spring
a missing limb
a st st st stutter
– everyone wanted to see the video
– everyone wanted to see the incident
– flesh
touching
flesh
– a cheap thrill
freeze fram watch it move forward real S L O W
– small flakes of skin fill up the sink
white privilege at the cemetery
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standing room only at the cemetery
not a lot of criticism
the apologist was sort of cute
knowing a little bit about alternative sexuality
I knew where to stick it
the whole event was mournful
they say,
“good moisture alone can sustain”
we went from dry to wet to urinate
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DELINQUENTS OF THE CEMETERY SCENE
steel-and-concrete layers
what loiters in the minds of the dead ?
—————–depersonalization
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pulled the foreskin back
pulled it back ALL THE WAY – tight like a noose – then
self circumcision
biting down on tree bark to nullify the screams –
– blunt hacks
followed online instructions
until the page froze
– stuck at the final stage WHAT TO DO WITH THE DEAD SKIN?
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ALL I KNOW:
you dressed as your local university mascot to woe the coffee girl –
– it was hot inside the mask
you tasted the sweat
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SHE was reading this literature on reproduction
the insertion of one organ into another
insertion and emission
regardless
THANK GOD SHE DIDN’T MARRY A POET
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the girl who works at the coffee counter
often talks of the pleasurable functions of the anus
the two way door
the male vagina
the need to smell oneself
as well as others
DO YOU MIND IF I SMELL YOUR BEHIND ?
gay magazines and movies display tongue action
I often think of Jesus and what he would say
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the girl at the coffee shop
says that religion has something
to do with hoarding turds
and the constipation of the common man
****mastering the subservient anus
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plunge and pull-back
plunge and pull-back
from dry to wet to urinate
****personality continuation impending
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THAT CRAZY PLACE WHERE YOU SLEEP IN DEATH
( a future archaeological site )
visual and verbal poetry
for sexual intellectuals
homo-erotic attack and defense
lunges and side-steps
the hawk stops being a hawk—tamed
erect without a single ejaculation
SHE went from dry to wet to urinate
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those cemetery delinquents
filling in the holes without permission –
– their bad backs
– the broken spades
– they spend all day looking at their future
– depersonalised for ever being eaten by worms
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this crazy world that we re-enter
and re-enter
masturbators—the whole lot
rapid eye movements
and a busy hand
taught to empty the bladder out of sight
happy to pay so girls squat before our eyes
undefined and undirected piddle
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WEEKEND HARMLESS TROUSERS
playful scenarios with curtains and casket liners
thumbs hooked heavily in the top loops
a tight ring around the base of Mr Wang
the go-to-town scrotum pouch
————-SIN MADE FLESH
seeker-sensitive detectives
interrogations
quasi-medical examinations
cover story after cover story
four information cards in one day
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the movie was over
but you were still narrating the erotic action
sometimes there were odd sounds
like a squirrel caught in a lawn mower
****possibly loneliness without lubrication
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a jailer and her groom
Morse code messages
using the brake lights
the perfect masochist
alone and following orders
a hint of stench
butt-crack
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by consent or by force
toiling toward despair
poetic restraints
rituals of pain and pleasure
affectionate humiliations
detectives printing sexual words
in giant block letters
sentences that stretch out
five or six feet
PETER PAN POETRY BOUND IN LEATHER
a rather sweet buckle for a grasp
something stolen from a motorcyclist
****a dong with a red eye
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she married blue Johnny – the man with his face on the note –
blue Johnny at the antique fair
– the organ mentioned was out of tune
you could hear wolves howl
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the girl at the coffee shop jiggled her beans – the backed up trouble
the steaming mug
**I’ve been bunged up for days
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plunge and pulled back
too tight
too tight
pain when pissing
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rules
•empty bladder before leaving home
•look left and right
•clench tight
•walk forward, eyes straight
•collar up
•eye contact
•beware what’s in the shadow
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those trousers, stolen from the clown
those playful scenarios drawn out on the back of school books; re-enacted with your children’s toys – little guns
– doctor and nurses
– politicians and killers
excited and confident until the pin goes in
deflated empty ballon
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the film finished
the credits ended
the room was still dark
strange sounds from the projection room – odd squeaks
the meat sweats
erotic action : the gulf between fact and fiction
i slipped in the lubrication
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weeks trying to decode the message – weeks staring at • • —••••••—- eyes crossed
double vision blurred
– couldn’t crack the code
couldn’t see past the end of your nose –
alone and punching yourself in the face
over and over and over and over
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UNTIL THE PIN WENT IN
so very difficult for the bride
to censor that which has no proper censor
punctured — thine enemy with bayonet
satisfied motel bed exhausted
the mattresses have exchanged
honeymoon information
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he told his wife
that he was tired kissing the dead
she said, “let us sleep”
he never saw the knife
anonymous mucosity on the pillow
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harnessed over like a circus horse
silk curtain trousers and a Jagger jacket
limp-wristed farm animals walking the fence
careful to stand beyond accusations
like an athlete frightened of the library
that lusty pack with their cartoon hands
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who censors the censors?
where is the list of unseeable things?
where is the list of unspeakable acts?
honeymoon action on fast forward
– difficult times for the open mind
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the wife and the kiss that lasted a week
tasted of wax
the sleep with dreams of anonymous faces
– the dead under our feet
scattered the ashes of the motorway
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underprivileged poets extremely confrontational
bad boys and bad girls intertwining
collaborators being the worse
medicalized individuals
(having been promised an early death)
almost no one will talk about the spider pills
the plurality of egos—the fear of photographs
modernism like broken glass on the kitchen floor
modernism late at night in total darkness
just think
pre-photographic foreplay
blatant displays of flesh
signaling with the skin
touching the rectal rose
unhinging the special flap
the groom careful not to feminize himself
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somewhere there is a list of humans
that you have connected with
the ways that you have connected
I noticed that beside my name
you printed COMPLETELY UNCONNECTED
—————-
daily characters—passing acquaintances
pseudo-poets producing Peter Pan Poetry
Italian cigarettes and spider pills
little anecdotes about stuffed bras
and fingers that reek of off-ripe cheese
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the names attached to faces attached to the neck that joins the spine all the way to the ground –
some with flailing limbs others static
glued to the spot
– connections dot to dot acquaintances – vague faces
sketchy back stories
– I saw my name on a lists
I saw my name all x’ed out
my eyes cut from the picture replaced with opals
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NIJINSKY OF PETER PAN POETRY
NUREYEV OF PETER PAN POETRY
POETRY FULL OF HONEYMOON IMAGERY
ILLITERATE AND AFRAID OF THE LIBRARY
A TEARFUL STORY OF A WEAPON
AN ANGRY FLAMBOYANT PENETRATOR
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