Raymond Farr
Something True
1.
He thinks
He’s something
Playing God—
A lifetime
Hitting imaginary keys
On God’s
Ironic typewriter
Take down these imaginary walls!
Or the neighbor kid gets it!
He types
This is law
Number one—
Existence
Is funny
2.
A thing
On which truth
Is a vacuum
Overlooks a window
With northern
Exposure
It wobbles strangely
Up ahead
Like a small dog
Like an ironic typewriter
It endures
As cars pass—
Or something
Just as circumspect
But flowers
Poking
From a rifle barrel
Are what he
Remembers
In the back of
A Mayflower
Moving van
fromLong Live the Synthesized Personage
2.
In the absence
Of a juke box
My presence
Is the stillness
Of a turned off
Machine
A wild empty
Yoghurt
I am looking for
The last of my
Cigarettes
I have no relation
To Time
But keep talking
Just the same
& like hope
I have no reason
To be defined as such
My words are feet
& hands
Pushing a
Wobbly-wheeled
Shopping cart
Out into traffic
3.
His real name
Was Mutt or something
A yellow sentence he pissed on a wall
He was one millionth sheep dog
That was the joke
He was reinventing himself
Wavering over asphalt
It was just realism, I guess
That got to him
His face white as pure Horse
His pupils from here to eternity
He puked on that car
Remember?
& stole that book—Zoo Station
& then read it aloud
& then wept like it mattered
That he wept
& all night he played killer—
Psycho Killer!
He’d sooner change the world
& all of you
Than not
Long live the Fugue!
Long live
The synthesized
Personage!
, Than Music of Maples
I am a boot
Of Milan
The largest commercial source of
Lariat
on this western track of
glee reminds us—
Casino dolls masturbate the microfiche deader
, than music of maples
, than unsullied Djuna
Pushing up
, doing ten or eleven
A railroad is process—
Not governor
Or sprout—
Stirred by simple protocol
The entire aspect holds court in its hands I am dynamite
Non-sense being
The now vacant automat
Portrayed
As a g-spot
To
1:
A black shadow of moustache
Is torn from a face
Gobbles up ten thousand mouths
Like that’s not a problem
For degenerate Futurists!
Why have we come here looking surreal?!
Our tongue is a blade of black rabbit strangeness
A penguin idolatry we pull from a top hat
               Here someone stands near us
Telling us we should never have come
The corridors are cold here
Too cold
& someone has scrawled
All we need is love & armadillos
All over a wall
2.
In 2190
Do the buildings all float?
Or do they explode?
Do folks still find God in the anarchic derangement of their senses?
As off in the distance a new Emerald City harbors survivors?
How is the sushi in 2190?
Are the people all clones of the people I know here in my century?
I think we lost a beautiful day
Just looking at
Clones
Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), &Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012). His poems appear in And/Or, West Wind Review, Otoliths, Upstairs at Duroc, Cricket On Line, & Eratio. He has a chapbook, Eating the Word NOISE! which is slated for February 2015 publication by White Knuckle Chaps & another full length collection of poems Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav due out from Blue & Yellow Dog in mid 2015. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com.
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1.
He thinks
He’s something
Playing God—
A lifetime
Hitting imaginary keys
On God’s
Ironic typewriter
Take down these imaginary walls!
Or the neighbor kid gets it!
He types
This is law
Number one—
Existence
Is funny
2.
A thing
On which truth
Is a vacuum
Overlooks a window
With northern
Exposure
It wobbles strangely
Up ahead
Like a small dog
Like an ironic typewriter
It endures
As cars pass—
Or something
Just as circumspect
But flowers
Poking
From a rifle barrel
Are what he
Remembers
In the back of
A Mayflower
Moving van
2.
In the absence
Of a juke box
My presence
Is the stillness
Of a turned off
Machine
A wild empty
Yoghurt
I am looking for
The last of my
Cigarettes
I have no relation
To Time
But keep talking
Just the same
& like hope
I have no reason
To be defined as such
My words are feet
& hands
Pushing a
Wobbly-wheeled
Shopping cart
Out into traffic
3.
His real name
Was Mutt or something
A yellow sentence he pissed on a wall
He was one millionth sheep dog
That was the joke
He was reinventing himself
Wavering over asphalt
It was just realism, I guess
That got to him
His face white as pure Horse
His pupils from here to eternity
He puked on that car
Remember?
& stole that book—Zoo Station
& then read it aloud
& then wept like it mattered
That he wept
& all night he played killer—
Psycho Killer!
He’d sooner change the world
& all of you
Than not
Long live the Fugue!
Long live
The synthesized
Personage!
, Than Music of Maples
I am a boot
Of Milan
The largest commercial source of
Lariat
on this western track of
glee reminds us—
Casino dolls masturbate the microfiche deader
, than music of maples
, than unsullied Djuna
Pushing up
, doing ten or eleven
A railroad is process—
Not governor
Or sprout—
Stirred by simple protocol
The entire aspect holds court in its hands I am dynamite
Non-sense being
The now vacant automat
Portrayed
As a g-spot
1:
A black shadow of moustache
Is torn from a face
Gobbles up ten thousand mouths
Like that’s not a problem
For degenerate Futurists!
Why have we come here looking surreal?!
Our tongue is a blade of black rabbit strangeness
A penguin idolatry we pull from a top hat
               Here someone stands near us
Telling us we should never have come
The corridors are cold here
Too cold
& someone has scrawled
All we need is love & armadillos
All over a wall
2.
In 2190
Do the buildings all float?
Or do they explode?
Do folks still find God in the anarchic derangement of their senses?
As off in the distance a new Emerald City harbors survivors?
How is the sushi in 2190?
Are the people all clones of the people I know here in my century?
I think we lost a beautiful day
Just looking at
Clones
Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), &Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012). His poems appear in And/Or, West Wind Review, Otoliths, Upstairs at Duroc, Cricket On Line, & Eratio. He has a chapbook, Eating the Word NOISE! which is slated for February 2015 publication by White Knuckle Chaps & another full length collection of poems Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav due out from Blue & Yellow Dog in mid 2015. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com.