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Imbue In The Eternal
by Philip F De Pinto
Whoever said life is grand
Never looked down to see the crap
They just stepped in
And trailed clear across the universe
Hence
The almighty stink
To the brink
Of high heaven and low
Hence
Screw the shrew
And the shrill and shit
And the feel good slogans and
Fuck being well read
I'd rather be dead and illiterate instead
Dead and illiterate to what comes to mind and goes at will
Dead to what may come to define with ill advised movement
And time and shadow driven clocks and unholy socks
And a certain length of will and size shoes
Which were entirely too embarrassingly easy to fill
Dead and illiterate to my cable - gas - electric - and buffalo bill
Hence the wild bill shit you step in and ain't it grand?
Dead and illiterate to the Kamasutra and her plethora of sexual innuendo and positions
Which lead nowhere but to the thousand natural shocks
That the top honcho bard said loving is heir to
Dead to my refrigerator chick and all the frozen stiff articles therein
Dead and illiterate to my radio and t.v. dinners and to the vast waste land
Of frozen stiffer articles within - ditto to my forks and knives and spoons
And plates and cups and table and chairs - none of which were folding
As would love - given love is piss poor at retaining a poker face
Dead and illiterate to the reams of blank canvasses
I ever courted and won over with a talent bordering on the non existent
But persistence wins out over any richness in style which never sold
To any dead or illiterate being who ever took a shining to them postmortem
D & I to winding roads which moor one
In the cul de sac of certainty which I thought she was
D & I to aquiline assumption which renders us asinine
Which hurries to join the horde of light flying fast
As much as it takes to constitute a crowd and add another hue to the spectrum
Dead dead to every toilet and cheek I am as yet to flush
To every debt I ever ducked given I lacked for beaucoup bucks
Dead to every mirror as would indulge my pug ugly looks
Which I fogged up with incessant hot showers - what could one do
Given cleanliness is obsessed with being next to godliness?
D & I to every lad who was ever had by lass obsessed with looking glass
And every brick as ever she laid - off
And relegated to the unemployment line
D & I to every trick in the manual every chick I ever hoisted on her pedestal
Dead and illiterate to every Festival Of Lights fizzing in her head
Which I had to clap off lest I be rendered blind
Dead and illiterate to every room I ever paced in
Every bed I ever loved or loitered in with said lass
Who I had to first hoist down from her pedestal and shatter her glass
The duality of which was a foreplay of sorts
And dead dead triply dead and illiterate
To the hammock in which I find myself singular
And alone and playing incessantly with my bone
Hence the high bone bill
Dead dead and illiterate to this unbearable lightness of being - broke
And unkind to the best friend and lover you'll ever leave behind
Dead and quadruple illiterate to every book I ever nested with and read
And to all the bard forsaken words that loiter within such
As are acute and defined as a toreador
Come sneakingly round the cape to stab to wound to slash to the quick
The bull which I've become inside this infernal ring
And last but not least mort mort and illiterate
To the loads and loads of apish odes and every other ephemeral pile
I've ever had the nerve to write in lieu of something truly grand
And meriting and exhibiting life
Which my quill had not a clue how to imbue in the eternal
12/10/2013 Posted on 12/10/2013
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 12/12/13 at 03:09 PM jolting,profound...unique *****TELLER STELLAR***** |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 12/31/13 at 06:46 PM The play's the thing, and this thing plays havoc with subjectivity--an object of radiant artistry... |
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