Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The illusion of separateness


Okay so this is awfully dark and melancholy, but sometimes you need to get that way for poetry to really express the pain and beauty of life. Reading some of Willie's poetry on his blog inspired me. (The fellow's a genius.) So read away, literary enthusiasts. If I told you what it was about, it loses some of its validity as a tool to realize something in your own sphere of experience. I'll just make the disclaimer: It's not suicidal, homicidal, or a plea for help. It's an observation of humanity's capabilities and a commentary inspired by the buddhist philosophy: "The illusion of separateness is the foundation for all human suffering."

Behind the forest and the geysers and the highways
The verbal lynching of the everyman
Now is the time for all good men
Hypocrisy and
The slow stab of a scalpel
the flesh against the blade
Florescent autopsy observation
the masochism tango
The perpetual reopening
and scabbing

Yesterday the blistering began
Shoulders and stomach coming to a slow roast
marinade from the facial faucets
Preheat crematory, sew lips, widen orifices of ears

Librarian olympics
Always the optimist martyr
In the caves of mars or venus
Fixing a hole
Where the prom court disco mirror dancing ball
Dangles from the creaking wire
Wire tense and turning slowly
Weighed down as though by
A blackened human body
Labeling tag swaying gently
from the big toe

Exquisite cadaver atoning
Tongue hanging out in cartoon splendor


Liz-a-nator said...

I just realized--re-reading that--how cryptic a poem that is. Taken out of context, it's rather obscure. How fun.

Beckah said...

Wow. I am blown away. That is amazing! I have such a great sister. Call me sometime! We need to talk!

Willie Z said...


I like the masochism tango, "shoulders and stomach" slow roasting. I wonder what librarian olympics are and I think they're great. I like the disco ball plus corpse. Yaaay Liz.

We miss you, Liz. I'm in a CPTA production right now. We're at the Craterian! And we still do Shay-shay-coolay. You are missed. Come back to us sometime, 'kay? :(

And keep writing poetry.