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 !
©David Mitchell
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