BLUE

BLUE 

I am the dead man you killed my son.
My car took a train across the boat
over the bus through the tram and 
via the telephone on the aeroplane.
I've seen wit. He's got grit. I can 
beat the Germans five to one baby one
in five. Love is the hope the heart 
literally needs in order for it to survive
without which it can stop. Emotional 
balance is more the gift of the liver.
I can drum up a drum bigger than 
a dream bound in the leather of a 
Jim Morrison trouser. I can whip 
up a frenzy as easy as cream. Pretend
it's still a dream-with-open-eyes-er.
Death is H suspended in deafness, 
not the frozen abstract tangential 
angel of angles of light thawing in 
emotion you want me to mention, but
death is H suspended in deafness. 
Hover like the dragonfly over the 
pond that codes the kiss of the wind. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

◄ LITTLE JOHNNY'S AILMENT

THE LAST POET'S LAST POEM ►

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