Poetry from Duane Vorhees

OUR STAR CHAMBER: RACK AND EXTRACTION

“And now,” says my torturer,

it’s time for your manicure.”

I strapped you to my machine

that moves belows to above.

“By means of proper stretching

I’ll teach you to loosen up.”

My fingernails, your pliers,

my distorted solo choir.

KINGSTON

8 DaYS! 7 NIGHTS!

Son, dey

moan

day to day

when dey

thirsty.

Fried, dey

sat ern de sun.

Deh!

 SPI(RITUAL)

marriage is a ritual,

agreed universality

of rote, script, symbol, image,

repetitive activities,

(temple, ring, song, robes, candles)

sameness within variety,

recitation from a page

Blood marks up the invisible.

love is the spiritual

ungloved particularity,

a simple cherished mirage

that completes our I-dentities.

THE ID ENTITY

There is a Trinity, some say, within each soul.

Even so, only one

of them is in control.

JUST A MOMENT

That night we togethered.

Our snowball moon may melt

amid its blizzard of stars,

but our being

at that there,

at that then,

and at that thus

was that moment

that will never move

into the being

that we had 

not yet been,

those plants 

and stones

to come,

the selves surrendered,

the selves sundered,

variously victors or victims,

deluges of confusion

among pussie,

tits,

and asses,

the tomorrows

of betrothals and betrayals

of other Peters, other cocks,

and the knowledge known

but could change nothing.

I do lust after gold, jewels, and such, shiny things. I am shamelessly bold, and I want shiny things because they are shiny. And I deserve honors, distinctions, high titles. I crave folds of fawners, many affairs, sweet flings meaningless as candy but rich in imaginings that appease variety. I burn with impatience and rely on cunning, grasping will to hasten the end of the burning. And I want what I want — any passing fancy — and of course I must flaunt that uproooted pansy. And I rationalize injustice in my dreams, and I invoke conscience to accomplish my schemes; it reminds me of rules I use to maneuver sure-footed among fools who forsake their Mover.

There is a minister

of reason, one who schemes

and justifies. And one

jester/councilor seems

to advise moral sense.

The Tyrant Child is king!

And this despot’s desires rule over everything.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *