Tuesday, September 13, 2005

fractured fish: a South Street tale

for mysfit, who knows me.


in this place i'm a shadow in windows
paired with half-naked mannequins,
pale porcelain-like figures leaning behind glass--
almost alive, so expressive were they,
looking for your ghost
in those mutable shapes cast in reflections,
a reading of tea leaves,
a performance of sorts.
had you been there you
would have known immediately
by the sequins.

when features change characteristics
& shape, become new faces
under new poses & new frames of hair,
that's called Time,
new designs for the new you
where i know
you would have walked sideways
to see.

out there in the lights i can look
to whomever i want.


in fluorescence & subway light
the anarchist banged his
instigating the street as it
swam serenely past.
he knew, louder than i,
what's to be done
about Authority
& the long slow diseases of Empire.
stripped of civilization we are all
bodies in the flood & in the sun.
i tossed him a dollar to sing
of the death of us all,
because I'm complicit in this,
one drift of the Society
that kills him till he kills back.
"Fuck Authority"--but
a dollar's still better than loose change
when you eat with it.


technology, so mysterious,
seems to offer small enlightenments,
with its acronyms & key gens & cracks,
its cords, cables, plugs & permissions--
it's as if i weren't already
frantic enough.

to go up & down all those stairs,
peering into shadows with each stumble,
techno-jingle-belling in basements
& chasing old friends from the curbside,
i sprawl here, every inch of leg
a something
i haven't said,
a glance gone awry,
a stolen pen,
forgotten batteries.

in red tones & thumping drones,
in radiations of sunlight through
smoke & trees,
i am surrounded by green screens,
blocks of dust & damage
& abandoned window perspectives.
i don't know how to solve your problem,
or even
the smart thing to say,
the goad to the lush places,
the blanket on the ground,
the sand in your eyes as
you look up & down again.

like a counterpoint
behind a structure
of revelations,
these technogical gymnastics
suggest greater things
in a panoply of koan-type questions:
where is the global record?
where does the relationship break down?
why does it ignore the existence of its own parts?

whisper sweet nothings to your monitor
& close the doors,
you alone with me &
maniacal inertia.
a series of rooms lead into
September, fraught with dunes
& lunar landscapes,
the river deltas of the future.


& on every corner, i failed to locate
myself, failed to find my years like so much
lost change gleaming useless in wet gutters,
knowing that
that was your last quarter.
the straining of a spine towards light:
however many bicyles fill a block
we don't have time to find you.

there are too many
people, bodies
in gaudy tangles
caught up in street currents
like schools of wayward fish,
like clusters in a game of manners.
don't stand on my toes, they're bare.

the armor behind curtains, the crystals dark,
i relied on neon to locate myself,
submerged & unspeaking
behind radar & all forms of tracks,
remnants in the concrete,
the first yellow leaves browning
after the tumble--
as the perspective widens
the details
are lost.

10 little fish:

Blogger jenn see swam up to say...

poem inspired by events of which photographs are floating about on the tourist.

5:37 PM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

(blushes) aw your not that hard to understand after enough years of banging my head against your vision of the world...

is this new? yay! could do with a bit more refining otherwise it's definatily cool. kinda seems like a long-overdue response to Fracture FaerieTales of South Street. it's fun how every trip to philly/south street is a different adventure

11:40 AM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

hmm fractured fishtales...

i forgot to mention that th epics are awesome

(originally the statement above said "the pics" and i edited it, but decided that both were so apt that i went with my first mistype)

11:54 AM  
Blogger jenn see swam up to say...

brand spankin' new, very rough, tear into it please, it's been a long time since i wrote a poem with a point.

rip it up.

12:00 PM  
Blogger theleftsock swam up to say...

new today, blogsearch.google.com
search teh blogospeheranonijubilianionian.


3:12 PM  
Blogger Carl V. swam up to say...

I like it! I like it alot. In fact as a 'poem with a point' I think its one of the best things I've read on this site. Not that every poem has to make perfect sense or even have a point but this one does make sense and is wonderfully written. I like the way it flows and the story it tells. I never felt like it went off track at all, seemed very focused and has a nice rhythym to it, if that makes sense.

8:16 AM  
Blogger forgottenmachine swam up to say...

I see 'specialisation' is not a word in your vocabulary. Most poets, once discovering a form and flow that works for them, persist in sticking purely to that formula.

Whether its relishing in the interplay of word and rythym, or penning something that strikes a hidden place in all of us, you seem to shimmer and shift between styles with nary a foot misplaced........

2:00 PM  
Blogger LiVEwiRe swam up to say...

as the perspective widens the details are lost. I love that line. I think I'd say that no matter where I would have found it but using that to wrap it all up works so well. And it is such a true statement.

12:08 AM  
Blogger jenn see swam up to say...

mysfit: banging your head on my vision? i always saw it as more peering around a corner.

sock: a tool i will make use of, i'm sure.

carl v: thanks, i always feel better after making an impression.
it is a bit more focused than usual, because it stems from a specific series of moments...but i like to go both ways on that.

machine: i think i do have a style, or voice, or whathaveyou. it's just that certain needs of expression require different manifestations.
& i've been terribly remiss on your poetry, i'm sorry, i really will get to that...various episodes of "sagittarius & the penguin" will probably be winging your way this week...

livewire: & it could mean so many things...i was thinking about art, at the time, & it dawned on me that the possibilities in that metaphor go far.

7:47 PM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

no - there definitly was a lot of banging going on

12:18 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home