Michael Scharf, p.2
LAMENT FOR ADLER
I
wanted
an organizing principle,
the dovebar or the love bear, or
something we’ll later have to pick
out of our pubes. Gemeinshaftsgefühl.
I typed a disgusting talk on the pillowcase,
fell down as the Baron faded as distance greened.
Lazily switched helmets,
breathed your phero-binomials,
senses so alert as to be able, little demons, to sort the molecules
by ruling-dominant, getting-leaning, and so forth,
the acrid yellow like a flowery shock to the stem wet with chlorhexidine gluconate,
sodden percale allergin miele cheese cloth encounter. Fits of passion
collected into small looks, collected again, delayed, issued, left out. Value is feelings.
This is something.
Hit the irresistible common
cultural stock proves luminous; but the incredible richness of “Ramblin’,”
Guthrieloaded and Birdflit, is rightly inaccessible,
through the reverberations
of saying so threaten to crush the poem. Self-medicating. Small does and doses and does.
I broke into the cot,
the bedroom in the attic,
as the moon’s dive touched the house’s tip,
the bed’s topmost knobs and stays. And I had
a thought:
honesty
about
materials,
that social feeling
spurring
the terror of production,
untoward steaming up of cheap paradisical farmhouses.
He helped me make a few adjustments,
set a goal from which to expect some
end, agitated for my dismissal
from the Zentralblatt.
I twisted and turned,
finally came up with the strangely worded statement
Du bist natur einen Tod schudig.
Fourteen people
were carried off by the dream’s yellow flood, but the bed remained
a protective channel
deposited by an unseen collective hand,
rising sharply in response to the goading cheeks of youth.
I could reproduce it perfectly.
On my walk
stuffed
Ponge in my pocket,
intending to pay later, not to touch
the dirty coin while in such a heightened state. Wandervögel
sodajerked somaticization, deutunged diaspora,
compressing and deferring familial revelations, determinant clusters,
radiant nodes that must be removed like adenoids.
Speaks it proudly, holds, and then the abyss, and the immensity
lightly rest on that dead form that
lightly here had drained the dew that
lit my face that bent the spoon—
The trend is bigger,
but an index isn’t a mirror of activity;
it doesn’t feel good, but neither does a diet.
I
wanted
an organizing principle,
the dovebar or the love bear, or
something we’ll later have to pick
out of our pubes. Gemeinshaftsgefühl.
I typed a disgusting talk on the pillowcase,
fell down as the Baron faded as distance greened.
Lazily switched helmets,
breathed your phero-binomials,
senses so alert as to be able, little demons, to sort the molecules
by ruling-dominant, getting-leaning, and so forth,
the acrid yellow like a flowery shock to the stem wet with chlorhexidine gluconate,
sodden percale allergin miele cheese cloth encounter. Fits of passion
collected into small looks, collected again, delayed, issued, left out. Value is feelings.
This is something.
Hit the irresistible common
cultural stock proves luminous; but the incredible richness of “Ramblin’,”
Guthrieloaded and Birdflit, is rightly inaccessible,
through the reverberations
of saying so threaten to crush the poem. Self-medicating. Small does and doses and does.
I broke into the cot,
the bedroom in the attic,
as the moon’s dive touched the house’s tip,
the bed’s topmost knobs and stays. And I had
a thought:
honesty
about
materials,
that social feeling
spurring
the terror of production,
untoward steaming up of cheap paradisical farmhouses.
He helped me make a few adjustments,
set a goal from which to expect some
end, agitated for my dismissal
from the Zentralblatt.
I twisted and turned,
finally came up with the strangely worded statement
Du bist natur einen Tod schudig.
Fourteen people
were carried off by the dream’s yellow flood, but the bed remained
a protective channel
deposited by an unseen collective hand,
rising sharply in response to the goading cheeks of youth.
I could reproduce it perfectly.
On my walk
stuffed
Ponge in my pocket,
intending to pay later, not to touch
the dirty coin while in such a heightened state. Wandervögel
sodajerked somaticization, deutunged diaspora,
compressing and deferring familial revelations, determinant clusters,
radiant nodes that must be removed like adenoids.
Speaks it proudly, holds, and then the abyss, and the immensity
lightly rest on that dead form that
lightly here had drained the dew that
lit my face that bent the spoon—
The trend is bigger,
but an index isn’t a mirror of activity;
it doesn’t feel good, but neither does a diet.