I
in/
abattoir
subtle as subtle butchery
I-teethed to the steel
as if to/
fallen caress of sky’s erupt
cadaver of
abyss of stitches
I
in/
abattoir
fallen caress of sky’s erupt
as if to
subtle as/ subtle butchery
I-teethed to the steel
abyss of stitches
cadaver of
(in)skin of none/
embers final
and the balk of
despair’s cleft/ obscene
the dregs the taste of swollen eyes (O)piated
the fields close around the throat of fist I/
left to scarring
redolent
of the breath irredeemable
trading bone dice
for shadow’s bound and winds to know
I spy/ kaleidoscope
the infinite
I am of the none/ stun abounding
..
From ‘All Stepped/Undone’, published 2013, Oneiros Books…
Michael Mc Aloran was Belfast born, (1976). He grew up in Co. Clare. He is the author of 16 collections of poetry, prose, prose poetry & poetic aphorisms. His most recent book, ‘longshadowfall’, was published by Editions du Cygne, (FR)…
a pointless except to remember, because pain is a deft teacher – & evil & wrong just a bad, an obnoxious. & a pillow is razors & offensive – here are the slow gods, their tedious prayer a huge forgiveness. night is a truculent vampire inside me, & day a fighting dog happy. here we assemble a huge absence, a dead flower. time is a cigarette in my pregnant fingers, i stub it into nothing; it is not important. you are whatever eternity is &, i can save existence for your every instant.
here is a great silence arrogant as absence – words are scissors & innocence, & i can tell you, Emma, where every god is always missing there is no such thing as distance – the world folds a caterpillar, a cocoon – which is whatever it is that love is.
lives inexorable empty & only you there, & that only fragments & dust. every temporary being we shed like skins no longer needed because they have forgotten their meanings. the sun is in the heaven her psychotic dance – she moves so slow i barely notice & light is there for hurting. thus here is the abject, the leaf in me arrogant as every other answer ever.
still you protect me from morning & its swords, its murders, the psychopath sun. i might say i contain multiplicities once, but i am Celt so none of them get on very well together & we only want to burn down the world & zombie dentistry, illusions &, to sing love ugly & very much out of tune.
between my ribs every word forgotten. there is a terribly patient suffering, it waits for the sun to come back, it is the same maybe in everyone i do not know. (if a tit happens to fly into a room it will panic, it will fly around beating itself against the walls until its little heart stops, so one must move fast like an animal & catch it in one’s hand feeling its tiny heart thunder & let it free under the innocent sky to hope it lives forever.)
between my ribs i have forgotten me & there is only you, Emma, my shame & the nightmarish affirmation Nietzsche said is the only thing that really matters. i say “yes” “yes” & “yes” to every suffering there ever was in me its optimistic eternity. “yes”, Emma, forever & again. it hurts to love you, but there is nothing better.
it might have been Anne’s terrible rowing
going nowhere
under the ice, under the water –
it might have been new oceans,
Emma, scars & Bodhidharma dancing –
everywhere else is absence
..
Details of David McLean’s various books % chabooks at http://mourningabortion.blogspot.com/ & http://davidcmclean.wordpress.com/. A ninth full lenght is due from Antiseptic Press & called EMMA FOREVER. These poems are from that book http://podphotopodmore.wixsite.com/antiseptic
Emma today i ascended to you,
a tiny frog crossing a road
hopeful.
i do not care that god is
nowhere, i have you to dream
meaning in me
instead of worthless
freedom. your fingers
live behind my eyes:
it is time
..
Details of David McLean’s various books % chapbooks at http://mourningabortion.blogspot.com/ & http://davidcmclean.wordpress.com/. A ninth full length is due from Antiseptic Press & called EMMA FOREVER. These poems are from that book http://podphotopodmore.wixsite.com/antiseptic
there is this anxious night & always you i cannot precisely see. Emma i wait as always & love is in me a helicopter, a bizarre computer, a remote control. beauty is not my fault & i am a naked man trudging through snow & happy are the fires that burn distances, the slow rise of the sap to leaf the trees a meaning.
i need you a diagram an equation to show me the precise possibility of love & jungle. here is your word, Emma, here is the anxious that cripples us, night & dust. i forgot i do not wait, we wait together & you must give me your anxious like an innocent illness so i can return it love to make it taste like nothing, the most lovable perfectly normal everyday suffering.
& you are the best of me forever, my blood my marrow, the idiot scars over my gray & damaged skin & whatever it is in them that still listens. i raise my finger to my lips & give it to this sacred wind to tell me your broken, your heart which is home & love was always you – the wind will not let me live my ignorance & it sings Emma, Emma forever.
you dance my absence – i do not exist apart from text except that i love you, not words but blood & heart.
..
Details of David McLean’s various books % chapbooks at http://mourningabortion.blogspot.com/ & http://davidcmclean.wordpress.com/. A ninth full length is due from Antiseptic Press & called EMMA FOREVER. These poems are from that book http://podphotopodmore.wixsite.com/antiseptic
too much human, chapbook & antinatalist manifesto from Black Editions
of desire & the desert, poems from Black Editions
passion is dead flesh, chapbook from Black Editions
Henrietta remembers, novel from Oneiros Books
flesh & resurrection, novel from Oneiros Books
nobody wants to go to heaven but everybody wants to die, poems from Oneiros Books
things the dead say, poems from Oneiros Books
of desire & the lesion that is the ego, poems from Oneiros Books
Zara & the ghost of Gertrude, poems from Oneiros Books
One of the least developed
strands in Stendahl’s unfin-
ished novel Le Rose et le Vert —
but obviously intended to be
important based on how much
of the author’s working notes
are given over to it — is an
analysis of the changing face of
vegetarian restaurants along
the hippest road in London.
Mark Young has recently had two chapbooks come out as part of William Allegrezza’s Locofo Chaps political poetry series which aims to publish 100 chaps in the first 100 days of Trump’s incumbency. The ever-increasing selection of chapbooks are downloadable from http://www.moriapoetry.com/locofo.html.
Pause in the progress
What started what.
Finished. He danced
towards me. Only. Not
moving. But. From this
side movement. The
realization. The pause.
Withdraw the breath.
Again. Breathe. Resume
the dance. The progress.
the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky 