I don't get it
I haven't a guess
and I wrote it
The words that call,
I let them fall into
oblivion,
obeisance,
obscurity,
maybe even
meaninglessness.
Oblique?
Complex?
Inaccessible
to the Common Reader?
Oh, yes!
Words are sounds
mainly, images,
vaguely connotative.
They must speak
to the Undersoul -
correct;
not the intellect,
to the elite,
to the elect,
not the crowd,
not too loud,
on a roll.
They must be,
in a word,
free - wholly free.
And just a bit,
almost explicitly,
phallic.
The jugular tulips
glow in the manger;
the hungry bananas
bathe in starlight
with the radio on
and sing I COME
ICOME icome income I Inca mai DIEeeeee....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem