BISCUIT
I am an all butter Schopenhauerian
Bludgeoned by handshakes
Baked in the stentorian
Kinship structures between juntas,
In the heat of De-regulo flashbacks

the keynote polysaturate speech on my wrapper
is written in Enochian

My hand-finished apricot glaze
Is the Axiom of Debt

Dip me and
quote
Alien abduction
is the adult equivalent of The Borrowers
Unquote

The way the sea seems all Celtic knots and kung fu
Once you’ve fallen in
And the fish come at you like crayons
Yet the waves are simply lunar lordosis
And soup is something water does for a hobby
And

At the factory
the metal beater
repetitively
folds my batter into the lotus position
before
a semi automatic, called Playboy, loaded with clips of vine fruit
Fires with an atonal kerpow kerpow

And I become absent

Ignore below. Forget about it. Really. I'm just not a communicator. Ah well.

oh my god.


its full of stars

It is fantastic.

I smiled as I read and I lapped it up.

Moxy's keynote polysaturate speech
the intrigue in lines that teach
a lateral mind
preach?
no.


super mox

I like this a lot. Anyone who can words like polysaturate and stentorian into the same poem has my admiration.

I have no idea what it's about, not strictly, and yet it has some really interesting sounds, and it leads into other ideas. I'm going to read it again now.

"I'm just not a communicator."

Oh, but you are. The poem (for me) is as much about the manufacture of a self as about the manufacture of biscuits - or a persona, where the "I", the "real me" (if there is such a thing) becomes mixed up and blended into the Schopenhaurian biscuit of the self.

Now, pass the plate of bourbons -

Thank you, Pete and Steve -- I am absolutely delighted you both enjoyed the poem -- bourbons coming up, served on a sun-warmed terracotta pantile (or balanced on a cat on a hot tin roof?). Yes, the sound and texture of the words matter to me; the intent, the meaning, have to ricochet off each image. Self-substantiation is a somewhat violent process. Thank you, again.

I liked it so much I just printed it out.

Crickey, Steve, life just gets better and better!

Lovely Mox

I have just come back from a walk out to a local tidal island where I was looking at the seals and the seabirds. The images were still in my head as I read this and your soup and biscuits all merged in with it beautifully.

I like alien abduction. South Park handles it very well. I will post 'Alone in the Garden' now.

Wow! I love writing liek this, I must have read it at leat 20 times now and I notice new images and sounds every time. You're brill Moxy :)

Everytime I see the title, I get hungry making it very deifficult to focus on the poem.
Once my focus leaves my stomach and I concentrate on the poem it certainly leavesan impression, beautifully writting with great imagery making for a class poem.

The title has a completely different affect on me, as wheat free biccies are minging, but it sets the tone nicely for the story of a poor consumable :(

As long as it's edible I'll eat it, not too keen on custard creams though. Can you still buy bags of broken biscuits these days? They used to get me through work!

You can get bags of broken biscuit from the market. The crumbs are great. All sizes and textures and colours. You can make mosaics,just tip them onto a plain plate, then you can eat them, dividing them back into tastes or going for crumb size or... ha ha ha ha ha!
Thank you for your lovely comments. Oh, wheat intolerance, Gemma, don't worry -- the biscuit in the poem is crispy but drifts through the body like a sugar-topped phantom. A sort of Ghostly Jasper.

ah thats ok then!