Monday, June 22, 2009

the antipoet's disciple

All night the antipoet has been in my bed
awake in my head rewiring my brain.

Black beanie low on his brow
Jeans disintegrating from the ankle down
Recycling back to soil
shoes with the hole in the sole
connecting to the mother of us all
Tearing up his poems and giving them away
Shouting meaninglessness in the city streets
Haranguing the crowd with nothing and silence
an eye for the beautiful and an ear for the false
failing failing failing into a well of his own success
ear and wedding ringed
placed by his woman to warn off
girls who want to splash in his genetic pool
Stripped bare the antipoet has no arse
worn his glutimus maximus to the bone
in front of his computer screen, newsprint, parchment, calf vellum,
ink slinging, quill driving, two fingers typing, leaky biro writing,
a manifesto, modus operandi, copyleft philosophy
Art a conduit, force elemental encompassing the earth
squirting out his fingers in super hero filaments
after a quick costume change
in the confined space of his male brain
much bigger than mine
sprouts three day growth from his face
being the dude, the man, the legend
who wrote and wrote and ripped and ripped and gave it all away.
Meshing his audience in a bird net of thoughts and images
that will become the Noah’s flood
of the world that flick flick flick
like demented
like like like demented demons
Penises cut down trees
vaginashome for the homeless
breasts wet nurse to the dull eye of television
Feeding into the one great stream of consciousness washing out
corporate greed child slavery
oppression multi national battery hens
starving Africans
shit for brains if you don’t get me
The Them
The They
and leaving only Us
toking together on home grown and living in HAR – MOAN –EE
until the worm feast.
Connecting them all for a fleeting moment
to his world
his thoughts
him self
Moulding them into one like Allah and Buddha and Jesus and Kurt Cobain
turna the phrase revealing the ash grey face of the dead gay god of love
ensnaring the collective unconsciousness
in his poets net
fisher of men like Jesus
shepherding the sheep
like Jesus
A mob which needs protection
from the suppurating festering
purulence of corporate
multi national miasma
creeping into the global suburb
wherehome alone dogs howl
at a bone white stencilled moon
on a cold blue winter sky.

There are those who say he is an old fucked up hippy
But to me he is the antipoet
Colossus of modesty/integrity
Astride my page.

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