log poetry...prose commentary

experiences..........thoughts..........pictures..........poetry..............

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

like fragile-ghost-feet grass-blade gored on heaven's lawn i stand before you





















discount porn picture
fading
behind the 7-11 counter
mind of one holding
“wife”
(word made flesh)
for the first time
____________________

pixilated print out
Michelangelo’s “Creation”
time-traveled
skipping Sistine
to subject itself
held at arm’s length
scrutinized through
one squinting eye
alternating
copy
original
copy
original
copy (crumpled)

“so that’s what he
looks like”
____________________

8-bit
on hold
mp3
telephone received
into room where
16“
Pioneer
hi-fi system escorts
in Sinatra
(big banded)
on vinyl

dat dat da da dat
dat dat da da dat
dat dat da da dat dat

Old Blue Eyes, himself
lifts stylus
zipping across grooves
extinguishes cigarette
and sings

5 Comments:

  • At 10/02/2007 6:00 PM, Blogger --matt g said…

    “…I gasped when I saw them. Now that they were in the light, they were transparent—fully transparent when they stood between me and it, smudgy and imperfectly opaque when they stood in the shadow of some tree. They were in fact ghosts: man-shaped stains on the brightness of that air. One could attend to them or ignore them at will as you do with the dirt on a window pane. I noticed that the grass did not bend under their feet: even the dew drops were not disturbed.
    Then some re-adjustment of the mind or some focusing of my eyes took place, and I saw the whole phenomenon the other way round. The men were as they had always been; as all the men I had known and been perhaps. It was the light, the grass, the trees that were different; made of some different substance, so much solider than things in our country that men were ghosts by comparison. Moved by a sudden thought, I bent down and tried to pluck a daisy which was growing at my feet. The stalk wouldn’t break. I tried to twist it, but it wouldn’t twist. I tugged till the sweat stood out on my forehead and I had lost most of the skin off my hands. The little flower was hard, not like wood or even like iron, but like diamond. There was a leaf—a young tender beech-leaf, lying in the grass beside it. I tried to pick the leaf up: my heart almost cracked with the effort, and I believe I did just raise it. But I had to let it go at once; it was heavier than a sack of coal. As I stood, recovering my breath with gasps and looking down at the daisy, I noticed that I could see the grass not only between my feet but through them. I also was a phantom. Who will give me words to express the terror of that discovery?”

    --C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

     
  • At 10/22/2007 3:44 AM, Anonymous Elyse said…

    I've been reading your work on this site and I have to say that it's amazing. I'm really impressed with what you can do with words; you're not simply typing words out, you're making art. I'm very glad that I got to read your work and I'm looking forward to reading the poems to come.

     
  • At 10/22/2007 11:23 AM, Blogger --matt g said…

    Thanks!

     
  • At 11/29/2007 10:54 AM, Blogger Booyah said…

    You are just so fantastic. I thought you should know that.

    Would you be terribly upset with me if I linked your blog in my blog?

    (I think you are swell and ever so dreamy.)

     
  • At 11/24/2009 7:32 AM, Blogger 123 123 said…

    Interesting story you got here. I'd like to read something more about this topic.
    BTW look at the design I've made myself Russian escorts

     

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