The boys are rocking tonight,
There’s a bonfire they have lit,
Little girls - clutching eachothers tiny hands -
Are dancing around the orange flames.
Evil and hopelessness linger in the air.
Useless ideas and writer’s block engulf everything,
The gut is empty, the bottomless pit has been filled,
Those needing to be saved have been saved.
A 100 k.m. drive can pencil in a complete evening:
50 kms there,50 back - stop for a Coke and an excuse.
Memory is a fatal weapon, especially when the poets are on strike.
Policemen are smearing crimesters with thick layers of chocolate.
These nasty men are comforting their victims, offering refreshments.
Poetry is beautiful. Free poetry is even more beautiful.
Free it from the straight line full stop meaning moneymaking
Let it ramble freely so that no one knows where it’s leading
Poetry in Iceland Japan Poland the North Pole is all written with the same thread beats by the same drum eats under the light of the same lamp
while walking down the street I feel paranoid
Copyright Mark Pollins 2007