Post by adamlynn Post by matt Post by adamlynn
A toothless old dog named hubris
licking its balls and anus.
you try to pass without arousing
its attention. however, a slithering
snake named cythera taps
it on the forehead and points
in your direction. as you
walk by, they growl and hiss
after that slight melodrama subsides,
you get back to writing your
book. if you get bored, you can
always go back and throw stones
at the toothless bitch and slithering
snake for entertainment.
Reminds me of a Rimbaud poem
about a priest...I wish I could remember it.....
A friend of mine, Uncle Grumpy, posted an interesting excercise a few
minutes ago, which caused me to pull one of my Rimbaud books from the
shelf, so I may come across it soon. Here's the deal:
UG: "But the idea of sin puts you in a servile condition throughout
your life. The "Power Of Myth" by Joseph Campbell. Grab the nearest
book to you Go to page 56 To the 5th sentence, post in your status.
Post these instructions in your comments. Make sure it's the CLOSEST
WD: "First book, closest, literally, since my knee touches the
bookshelf, is a book of poems by Arthur Rimbaud. Page 56, I felt
lucky, with /Evening Prayer/, fifth line, counting the title line:
'Clenched in teeth, veiled in puffs of impalpable air.' without the
title line as first, not so lucky: 'Like the dung in some old dovecot,
By Arthur Rimbaud, trans. Dennis J. Carlile
I live parked, like an angel in a barber's chair,
In my fist a fluted thick mug of beer,
My gullet and gut bend curving, pipe here
Clenched in teeth, veiled in puffs of impalpable air.
Like the dung in some old dovecot, simmering,
Countless Dreams within me gently smolder.
Soon enough my sad heart's like a sapling
Running bloody tears of young and sullen gold.
Then, when I've thoroughly damped down my Dreams,
I turn, after thirty or forty beers,
And address my prayers to a pressing need.
Easy as the Lord of cedar and of hyssops,
I piss to the dark skies, up high and oh-so far,
To the nodding assent of great heliotropes.
Post by adamlynn
Good stuff Matt.
I've got nothing against Cythera personally-
(life's too short).
Same here... in the past, I've had some good discussions with Cythera.
She just seems a bit too /sensitive/ for the poet's life.
"Truck Stop Woman" by Dockery & Conley on internet radio: