posted on October 16, 2011 at 11:49 pm

yet he

a famous actor feted luxuriantly in approaching china evening

why you all know the fellow : handsome but brainless

in his world not far from here

a different plane

hes spitting shakespeare and gargling ibsen

a marvellous play then that was set in eden

eve was played by dorothy gale

adam by  tolkien walker

yes i had a cameo as a cherub with a flaming sward

there was no internet at the euphrates cafe

the outside had no truck with the inside

the inside meanwhile looked out and shuddered

like the roman empire it was fun while it lasted

but here comes babylon the temple sluts flouncing along

israel saturated with convictions

gog and magog begin to condense within the storm

in one life i was pilate  slyly  questioning the christ

in the next i was improvising against a set theme of burlesque mayhem

wars and crusades knights and witches

the pope whispered burn those heathens and hells maw yawned wide

we just accepted everything like fools even though it was our world

on the threshold of hypnagogia

at the beginning of synaesthesia

(my lines come to me as if from a fog)

in one world a poet ,in another a madman

in one lane speeding ,in another standing still

i embody nobody so much as yourselves

gentlemen all we proceed in good faith (with our derringers cocked !)

but at night we strip away our clothes to reveal the pale monsters we really are

i must have a talk to my agent …he’s such a lazy type ……

my name is misspelled on the billboards in great cities you see

i was rather under the impression i was someone else

an impossible task and a scam of cosmic disproportion

i appear in the underworld and i wont be short of female companions

orpheus and his liar

marc bolans skull white strat

he was a celtic bard but atahualpa blocked the flow with his snow

and dionysius drop by drop rotting his muse from under him

i play someones brother from the aftermath which is finally ready

in no uncertain terms a bleak indictment of something or whatever it was

i measure my cloth against the majestic garment sky which terra dons at dawn

in some ways its easier to be a poet than anything else i suppose

an actor has to remember his lines but poets have forgotten everything

they stand around fountains gazing at fucking butterflies while actors toil

yes we toil and painters sweat it out in their fume of oil and hues

and musicians who must travel around

they beat on their drum they whistle their flute

the sculptor beating with hammer the face from the rock

the dancer limping and spraining a joint

long lonelinesses of authors doomed to be alone with their book

the magician must first juggle and cause rabbits to vanish

but what does a poet do but mutter his stuff

or write it down somewhere tho nobody cares

no director of drama no martyr to art

an actor i play yet another actor

a poet i sing the ether and wind

the christ was right

this is a bad time

kali yuga all over the place

in ten thousand years we will have a good laugh

things have a way of working out like that

i have been sent here by a time in your past

hired to impersonate a singer for a hypothetical position

the offer expired in spades during lent

and borrowed too we must not forget those forgotten items

the artist formally known as the time being is no longer extant

certainly not as you would understand it

he will henceforth be addressed as the time being

no italics no sandals no doubts no admission

all operators are probably having a cup of tea right now

its 12 28 and its raining; please dont jam the switchboard

nothing else moves on the streets

only poets and actors persevere into this dismal night

the actor plays a poet and the poet describes the actor

there has been no death of ego

there has been no opening left closure

actors and poets both have their lines , dont they…?

the actor may stumble

the poet may fall

the universe does not quake nor does the humble lamb

their god does not ever stoop to cruelty on their creatures

men are men and nothing more but sometimes often something less

brutes and fiends and devils abound

the ratbag and rake

the cad and the bounder and blackguard

the delinquent on fire in vandalistic self immolation

actors are required to represent them in films i guess

and poets who obliquely pour scorn

careful with their adjectives around old money

because the power  goes to the machines head

and the voltage enclosed in one mites life could light up andromeda

and i act out the one part of myself

and it goes on and on

until it collides with Eventually
















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