Monday, April 25, 2005
Locus Ruine (Part II) Points IV, V, VI, VII
IV.
A Point of Blocks
International jet setters skitter past
Talk of experience and foreign land
Ambassadors huddle under dark dreary lampshades
Foreing aids order pints for their bosses
Welcome to a time square happy hour
(I hear of English dips drinking Canadian lager, oh quite the scandal).
Lost in a moments notice deporting location
For specific indignation of humorous antidotes
Deporting on 33rd in search of 9th
before a French karaoke outburst.
I make it a point of interest to intersect street corners
With flashing signals of passerbys,
Please streamline all rustling and bustling
For rush hour interruptions. Immigrating side walk
To nearest border, train of process lost.
Feet pound the pavement, the rhythm syncopates
Rubber soles burn up on this hallowed stone
Walking the same beat as so many others, repeating history
Constant de-ja-vu but in a moment of concise recollection.
V.
A Point to Go Underground
Laughter splits out of the sidewalks
in rigged cracks, also in aluminum pots and pans
point to patterns of invention.
Mad hatter, Mandhatter, Manhattan
Reverb, echo, digital language
Or loss of ambient passion.
Statements of bliss.
Aesthetic expression wiggles
Onto shadows on the magnified white.
Silver guitars and saxophones cover crowds
Gushy notes and chords bleed in overtones.
In a smokeless carbon copy factory—
Knitting together hopeless phrases,
Strike riffs, mash keys all in unison.
Harmonious interludes sonic ambivalence
All proliferated in this floorless brick.
Safety in numbers of intelligent pro/con verse
Calculate flicks of tongues per beat.
Enunciating the proper artistic demarcation.
The moments left unbalanced, unchecked,
Recorded not in time, seconds late.
VI.
(Make it) A Point to Part
Hallowed statements (grrrrrrrrrrr!)
Time lost in the city,
Inner upt and outer downtown (napkin,
Coordinating contortionists through Broadway.
Lapse in locomotive hustle bustle
Alleys shutter CBGB’s 53rd & Strummer, Joe military coat
Patches signifying classification, lost with words).
Joining hipster religious cults so 1…9….9….9
Ignition: key in the car, take me back to the futon,
Mattress noises shake the crusty walls.
Ticket times melt into the digital screen at the Greyhound station,
Board until full, smoldering feet revert to inclination.
Eyelids lapse, parting shots, depart time imminent
Blue warning level, slight alert interest lost.
Holland tunnel darkness, one interval (to meditate
On turnpike rest stops speaking in neurotic voices.
Characters all part of an unending skull and bones conspiracy theory--
to alleviate rye bagels?)
The skyline visible for a number of exhaust miles,
Which I stopped counting.
VII.
A Point of Concept
Too hard to place in a small plastic container
Obtuse in definition, replay the placement of constant doubt.
Rift-raft : lifeboat sinking in the words-spoken-less.
To give up on the unattainable, numb to the touch.
Etched stretched finger nail, skin sore from constant :
(a realization) that Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone.
A belief revolutionary protest to reject all that is not concrete,
to abolish all that is rational, all intellectual pursuits quietly
disregarded in the back of a hickory-smoked closet.
To look at the concrete abstraction of discomfort,
the remnants of the past still remained in awe (unattached).
Left without constant remainders but just illusions :
real-ness in search of the unmistakable to mutter in silence.
Wandering on the borderline until the pressure implodes
leaving you balanced on a beam of decision
to repeat previous miscalculations a refusal to move on.
The plan was never fully revealed to mutter in steps
or points of progress but to fully lay out a oral / written
map of the moment : the note in the hand still remains days left
symbolism of specific Locus Ruine.
Swarm the lot of description, picking and gnawing on the rope
to reject the loft of isolation. Babble on one too many glasses of
Red Wine in a Box. We slept on glass in the alley but it never broke.
A Point of Blocks
International jet setters skitter past
Talk of experience and foreign land
Ambassadors huddle under dark dreary lampshades
Foreing aids order pints for their bosses
Welcome to a time square happy hour
(I hear of English dips drinking Canadian lager, oh quite the scandal).
Lost in a moments notice deporting location
For specific indignation of humorous antidotes
Deporting on 33rd in search of 9th
before a French karaoke outburst.
I make it a point of interest to intersect street corners
With flashing signals of passerbys,
Please streamline all rustling and bustling
For rush hour interruptions. Immigrating side walk
To nearest border, train of process lost.
Feet pound the pavement, the rhythm syncopates
Rubber soles burn up on this hallowed stone
Walking the same beat as so many others, repeating history
Constant de-ja-vu but in a moment of concise recollection.
V.
A Point to Go Underground
Laughter splits out of the sidewalks
in rigged cracks, also in aluminum pots and pans
point to patterns of invention.
Mad hatter, Mandhatter, Manhattan
Reverb, echo, digital language
Or loss of ambient passion.
Statements of bliss.
Aesthetic expression wiggles
Onto shadows on the magnified white.
Silver guitars and saxophones cover crowds
Gushy notes and chords bleed in overtones.
In a smokeless carbon copy factory—
Knitting together hopeless phrases,
Strike riffs, mash keys all in unison.
Harmonious interludes sonic ambivalence
All proliferated in this floorless brick.
Safety in numbers of intelligent pro/con verse
Calculate flicks of tongues per beat.
Enunciating the proper artistic demarcation.
The moments left unbalanced, unchecked,
Recorded not in time, seconds late.
VI.
(Make it) A Point to Part
Hallowed statements (grrrrrrrrrrr!)
Time lost in the city,
Inner upt and outer downtown (napkin,
Coordinating contortionists through Broadway.
Lapse in locomotive hustle bustle
Alleys shutter CBGB’s 53rd & Strummer, Joe military coat
Patches signifying classification, lost with words).
Joining hipster religious cults so 1…9….9….9
Ignition: key in the car, take me back to the futon,
Mattress noises shake the crusty walls.
Ticket times melt into the digital screen at the Greyhound station,
Board until full, smoldering feet revert to inclination.
Eyelids lapse, parting shots, depart time imminent
Blue warning level, slight alert interest lost.
Holland tunnel darkness, one interval (to meditate
On turnpike rest stops speaking in neurotic voices.
Characters all part of an unending skull and bones conspiracy theory--
to alleviate rye bagels?)
The skyline visible for a number of exhaust miles,
Which I stopped counting.
VII.
A Point of Concept
Too hard to place in a small plastic container
Obtuse in definition, replay the placement of constant doubt.
Rift-raft : lifeboat sinking in the words-spoken-less.
To give up on the unattainable, numb to the touch.
Etched stretched finger nail, skin sore from constant :
(a realization) that Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone.
A belief revolutionary protest to reject all that is not concrete,
to abolish all that is rational, all intellectual pursuits quietly
disregarded in the back of a hickory-smoked closet.
To look at the concrete abstraction of discomfort,
the remnants of the past still remained in awe (unattached).
Left without constant remainders but just illusions :
real-ness in search of the unmistakable to mutter in silence.
Wandering on the borderline until the pressure implodes
leaving you balanced on a beam of decision
to repeat previous miscalculations a refusal to move on.
The plan was never fully revealed to mutter in steps
or points of progress but to fully lay out a oral / written
map of the moment : the note in the hand still remains days left
symbolism of specific Locus Ruine.
Swarm the lot of description, picking and gnawing on the rope
to reject the loft of isolation. Babble on one too many glasses of
Red Wine in a Box. We slept on glass in the alley but it never broke.
# posted by Bobby Bobson : 11:25 PM
