A Strew of Poems

I

Angry at myself
but angrier
at the one
I blame
for being
angry at myself!

The charade
of owning
your feelings
never seems
to be quite
convincing

At least not
to oneself --
Although even
that is not
a certainty
for everybody

II

I suppose I have Ginsberg to thank
for my 'poetic' freedom
but 'Howl' is not my poetry
& it wasn't his either.
It was poetry
and it had definite
literary value
(over and above
all the celebrity worship
of sycophants
wetting themselves
at the thought
of being part of history)

But what history?
Not even their own.
T'was published
thus it joined the ranks of
this corpus we call
literature.
Whether I like it;
all of it
or just small
genius portions of it
is really neither
here nor there
I simply object to the claim

that winning a court case
bestows more value
upon a work
than it necessarily
would have had
otherwise.
To me value
is not synonymous
with notoriety
or the size of one's fan base:
Value is something
that only history
can tell.

III

"I need pain for my art
thus I create my pain.
Times I need complete destruction
utter oblivion
enmity."

...then I think I've gone too far
in my manner of speech:
Can -- utter banality
total emptiness
& a desperate
all-consuming
lust for novelty;
for longing
& in some ways
for rejection
humiliation
not to mention
those 'bitter pangs
of despised love'
as Hamlet woes;
and not least
the humbling
effects of embarrassment --
really lead to this
devastation I am seeking?
This 'oblivion'?
This enmity?

Is it really so annihilating?

If not, is there any in seeking it?

IV

The secret remedy
to all life's woes
is far to splendid
as it goes,
to speak of as if
one thinks one knows


...there is a bower
of restful sleep
that delimits the wolfs
from the sheep,
the treasure here
is yours to keep


should you promise
you'll take this risk
of discovering joy
in the woe and the bliss
you are the carrier of evil
and God gave you fists


So fight for your freedom
& self-determination
Give in to your impulses:
"pas sans considération
pour la chaîne de la prétention 
démesurée qui hantera 
votre individu-malédiction


and please don't think me
a religious man;
just a poet, one that's
lost his wings
who wants to fly
where no-one else can.

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