Are we there yet?

are you ready for this?
forget I asked there’s no way
you could be ready for what has to follow
the necessity of the next is not in dispute
I use my vocabulary to enthuse, not confuse
all the English syllabuses want to include me
all the publishers wish I was on their list
all the open stages are empty without me
the radio is white noise when I’m not there
everyone adds me & friends & retweets me
I’m the poet the world has been waiting for
the king of words, the master of phrases
I make it look easy
I make it look good
I make it look like a viable god-damn career path
I make you want to try it for yourself
poets wreck lives? who told you that?
it’s the opposite that’s true: this poet
is going to unwreck your life
spitting poetic seeds out of my mouth
right into your mind & in no time
a poet tree growing out of your brain
filling your eyes & your ears & mouth
my face on T-shirts and billboards
my words dancing out of the sky, carried high
by radio & television, the net & the publishers
none of them can get enough
fill the dictionary with words and still run out of pages
read it quick before the pages burn
damn your pentameters, alexandrines & tetrameters,
I wear double dactyls as ring-finger jewelery
(apologies, ladies, this poet is taken)
these rhythms I supercede them all
this is the freest verse you’ll find
freeing its listeners from the jails in their mind
coming at you so fast I’m bathed in red light
calculate the doppler shift if you think you’ve got the math
poetry with precision on a subatomic scale
I’m the poet of the superstring, of the gravitino, of the tachyon
I’m the poet of higher dimensions
I’m the sphere to your square, I’m a hypercube
crucifying pretender poets using words as nails
inventing the words for what I do with words
so fast I take on infinite mass
a perpetual motion poetry machine
no blank page has enough space
no laser can carve the path I trace
resisting capture, transcending media
the words I put forth are words at their purest
distilled to the essence of language & meaning
straight to the bloodstream straight to the heart
crossing the blood-brain barrier & back
I’m the poet laureate of the human race
leaving shattered minds & microphones in my wake

(this poem originally appeared in Four W #21 back in late 2010, and was previously discussed re: its post-acceptance editing here)


Poet. Author. Beard. Husband. Dad. Four chickens. Dog. Cat. I can sometimes fix my lawnmower.

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Posted in poems, Published work

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Quelle Grammage!
only a fan of 2/3s of the folk in this pic but mesmerised by the story @angustrumble relates below it. . . . I watched last evening’s general election coverage (ABC, natch) in the company of a high Commonwealth official, among others in an undisclosed location, whose name, it soon emerged, may not appear on the electoral roll for reasons of national security. I confess that gave me a bit of a thrill. Canberra: Bless! However, it was also fascinating, extraordinary, in due course to witness that person’s several mobile phones evidently going bonkers, and the measured plans, contingencies, forecasts, blue books of an entire federal bureaucracy duly (one presumed) shredded, turned upside down, just like that. Nothing at all was said, I should emphasise. One simply observed the body language, which was moderately graphic. Whichever way you look at it, this has been an astounding personal victory for Prime Minister Scott Morrison. He believes in miracles, the sexy thing. Pre-polling methodologies in this country, meanwhile, have quite obviously met with serial unforced error on a colossal, epic scale. Who would ever pay them good money again? On my way home, I collided with the (ex-)campaign manager of one of the independent ACT Senate candidates who was alone, drunk and in despair. The campaign manager, that is, not the candidate. This was at about half past eleven on the corner of Jardine and Eyre Streets in Kingston, right next to the rubbish tin, you know, the rectangular green one. He told me he wanted to burn everything down, which was worrying enough, but then he suddenly hurled his mobile phone into the gutter—smashed it to bits—and staggered off into the night. I found myself wondering: Who would touch politics with a barge pole? I should add that this frightening encounter left me, literally, picking up his bits and bobs, then dutifully popping them in the bin. Responsible, me. Back home, I had a cuppa and played patience. I’m not kidding. . . . #Repost @angustrumble with @make_repost
A chance op shop encounter with this Death Liger Lion of Chaos duelmasters card case has done NOTHING to help my attempts to not buy one of this sucker’s namesake toys on ebay. #duelmasters #deathliger #deathligerlionofchaos #metalasfuck #toys
Thursday morning tableau
They come up after rain. I often wonder how they feel lying under the ground at right angles to their purpose. #chewton #railspike
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