new zealand electronic poetry centre

David Mitchell


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george raft hat
 

coming home ‘ without my mind ’
sunday. 9 a.m. through grafton
gulley & over ‘ that bridge ’

past th electric mouths
of yawning kids
braces on th teeth
& sulphur on th tongue

past some lush / all over hung
&
crashed on a slatted bench
all
crumpled & embryonic
( hand between th thighs )
worldly wise ! history unfurled !
ah ! dead ! / to ‘ th fucking worlde ! ’

coming ‘home’ without my mind
again
watching th stories & poems
th people make
passing along th kerb
against th railings of th day
& rantings
                of th dead—

light / shade / light / shade
‘ as if from world to world ’

through that gulley like jimson
& weeds in th electric head
& sudden
            flashes / too
            from out th void
            th unknown / yeah.

            o zone . . . o trackless
            tram !

yr shazam bolt of striped lightning
glows in my eye a long time
                      —a long time

under heavy skies / cool disguise
of patterned power ! nietzsche
lies
    in th gutter . . . / i hear him sing
    ‘ buy you a diamon’ ring
    my frien’ ’
                  the end. /

streaks of bacon lie curled
on th thick willow pattern plate
through th river of some restaurant window
& above this / in cursive script
up high / 180˚ / th legend
        TODAY    SPECIAL

brings me to th knees . . . ah !
that’s th line ! / since time began
fr all who were brought up t’eat th shit
‘ real pretty ’
                   that’s th line / th holy village
                   th sunken city ! ( since time began )
         TODAY     SPECIAL
on th instalment plan.

outside the jewish cemetery / 2 lean
& graceful pakistanis stand
th woman & th man
& i
am watching them watching me
watching . . .

& i am watching them in their sleeveless
fair isle pullovers / fawn & blue
& they look through
th years—
as they
              discuss th ‘ mawgan dovid ’
              on th gate

& then
there are these, persons, in th trolley bus
who are watching, too
early & late
O

yeah.

&
now a flight of sparrows weaves between us all
th time of day

TH TIME OF DAY

& th green bus
slides

quietly

away.

ancient chinese philosopher in th george raft hat
& carpet slippers, too
leans ‘ a space ’ against some wall
in th sudden sun

looking starry eyed ! looking great !—
( with th elements ) O looking benign
( though slightly undone )
in th same
                 old
                        way . . . & he

is turning, now, to face th new
motorway monuments
from out old clay.
                 behind him
                 a huge
& juicy nude pouts / in orange & green
like marilyn’s death mask
truly beautiful! in th karangahape road strip joint
closed ( fr business ) all in th cool day

o largesse ! o $ signs within th purple eye
o history unfurled !
                        ah. wisdom / like th scent
                        of rain . . .
coming ‘home’ without my mind / again . . .
                        ah ! visions
                                    visions

VISIONS OF TH CARDBOARD WORLD !

 


ęDavid Mitchell
 


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Last updated 22 February, 2010