The days pounded
upon my chest
of invisible baby held like a heart,
that was dead at birth

I see the same streets
the identical rage
the mundane purpose of the bar

But patient fish
as eyes remain cool
under the stream of time

This skin stretches
around the boundary
like water

I could watch all the movies
and talk of holy female bodies,
in a café or purgatory

That ideas are literally queens
and inherited the contemporary
love of possession

The days keep pounding,
a tick of brutal rational
abstraction and the irrational
motion of the problems
of life

The perfume of a cadaver
interred in an instant
where the universe
allows a glimpse but no more.

 

 

 

AbSURd PoEtry