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Dislocation Poem

January 15, 2012

Hello poetry-readers! It’s been a bit. What with the holidays and all, I got terribly distracted until this poem came along.  I’ve put a fair amount of work into it (thank you very much Patches for editing!).  The lines in quotes are actual quotes from Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.  The line “miles to go before I sleep” is lifted from Robert Frost.

Dislocation

fly me, fly me, fly me the way home.

 

As I return:

dis locate

out of joint

cracked and bruised

a sunrise of yellow green purple

tremble coffee cup

 

they call it culture shock

 

Touch down on my ground for a handful of hours

slipping, slipping down down

Now here.

Again traveling.

McDonald’s faucet water through hands to drown the sink

 

Perhaps I’ve just been asleep?

A coma, a very long coma, has just ended

Things have changed a bit, but not really at all.

I can reach out and touch them

their beings are not just shadows

 

am I going insane or becoming sane again?

an English heath

Californian beach

a Joshuian desert–

all of it becomes volcanic

am I in a dream of dreams?

Trapped by the paper bars of a

postcard paradise

 

don’t leave me here alone

 

I’m afraid.

This landscape grew out of a TV

pandering palms, metamorphic magma, silk sand

brutalist art

it’s so warm, it’s so hot

the coconut husk damaged the cable wires

enmeshed with the electric lines

Won’t someone change the channel

Or just pick one?

choose a

brain-numbing, brain-engaging, brain-dead

scene

 

“heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping”

 

ghost haunts, black rock ruins sacrify

lurch up, crush down, waves beat relentless

Is that my sneaker print on over-stepped sand?

Floating,

a figment, an afterthought

(with all the other afterthoughts of a long forgotten Time)

flit through hotel dust and mirrors

my real body must be somewhere else

 

“the angels were so angry”

(we’re not supposed to know)

 

trail upwards for the butterflies and bees

lines bloom up one after another

to caterwaul

and trace the reality edges

like telephone pole power lines

under a slantways sun

 

Things are out of sync

little grainy backdraw blurs of impressionistic pixels

And then the forty years ended:

 

Outdoor airport

hatched with thatch

I’ve finally found the stars

and the ever-elusive moon

reflection off the concrete

and the little glowing lights

of spirit settling

hills

 

miles to go before I sleep

my soul will wander ages hence

 

where I woke sobbing for joy”

 

I think I’ll kiss this ground

before I’m torn away again

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From → Poetry

2 Comments
  1. It was a very nice idea! Just wanna say thank you for the information you have diffused. Just continue composing this kind of post. I will be a loyal reader, thanks a lot.

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