|
Raymond
Farr
Raymond Farr lives in Ocala, FL. His work appears in (or will soon be appearing in)
Otoliths, Cannot Exist, Letterbox, Cricket On Line
Review, ditch, BlazeVox2k9 and
many other poetry journals. He had several poems published in the First Sidebrow Anthology
and guest edited issue 6 of Pinstripe Fedora this past year.
Meditation on the Sun Heating the Straits of Hormuz
The name of my people is
95 billion
Tons of tom-toms (electric)
A metro cat
Spawned in metric solipsism
Worships
The foot of someone’s
Perfect freedom
As odd language triangulates
In space
I wear a suit
& a tie
Charged with the murders of the dog town traces
A tissue of leeks
Is called plasma
*
On screen I ramble
Up Straits
Of Hormuz a lightning jar
Containing dung beetles is written into
A satisfied customer
Is the answer a satisfied woman?
What do you mean by the Straits of Hormuz?
*
One’s felicitous behavior
Interacts with
bending pseudo-Cosmos
Plugging
“bye to the infant”
Into units of measure
At critical mass
*
A police blotter
says OK
Feed my iron monkeys
Milky Ways
As though post cards to
Le horny little [ ] whispered: sir
To a lady
Her minions
set her face
on seven stultifying fires
This is a way out
A fifth sense burning turpitude
To ashes
& lies
*
To begin a dream
Visit isolation
Bring starlit poppies to a vigorous boil
*
In the window
I saw
Action painting
strange oven gasses
are a matter
For Dante
Alighieri
Awash in buckets of anise
& formaldehyde
*
This network
Is beyond
My shoulder of Dadaism
Tunes me out like a fish
I am spammed
An alternative to
Luke warm
the
Looney bins
*
A monger of delicious ices
Even Nietzsche’s
Solid ice
A pair of
2 Zekes [for instance]
Pauses at 2nd base
Taking risks
They play at
Evolution
A dream state
Of
The oven doors close
Observing Xmas
This I call psychiatric pantry music
Overheard at a Walgreens
A solo’s
A dynamo of
boulderness
that touches
O now I have
Meaning
Will Herman Munster Melville
Grab his grab bag of Iggy Pop
you must collapse now
Listening
For a bigger Big Bang
*
In this element
Our fictions are beach balls of
Networking difficulties
A vision named Comet
Named Salted Mixed Nuts
Its context
A bouncing
Let’s loosen our ties
*
My life in a tenement
Takes shape indiscreetly
I look to the east
Of cast iron
An alternate route
I am all out of plum
One standard deviation
Away from the Norm
*
Hurry up
Write me a line
You digress too readily
A planet
Hangs over us
Plentiful in my palm
Soon it is glowing
&
Alice is dying
A cricket makes off with her coupon for steak sauce
Her blonde rubber ducky
Smacks
Of equilibrium
Nothing so sad as
The other shoe on her foot
She harbors eleven
But only eleven
The number of spaces
Jammed into
A foot
Her e. e. of
jelly glass thinks over
a moustache
*
Who is the monster?
I tremble like Dorothy
*
The key to one’s odes
is an odd plastic knob
Something has no name
& is announced
past tense) here is a
Traveler (in sequence
I wander in
Worming
Ferocious
Under red sky at dawn
Focused as gravity
On toes of
Big toe
Ambiguity
My fingers are travelers
What is the point of a game
No one wins?
Eastern Daylight Savings time?
Heart-felt though it seems
(& though it is
Heart-felt)
It is rippled
Crust
11.3 on the Richter Scale
copyright
© Raymond Farr
|