7/18
A prop job with the tsetse fly shakes like a
ukulele strumming My Little Grass Hut like a
kaleidoscope undergoing the shudders shattering then
coalescing as a map but it’s alright darling
Marlowe just thinks he’s a desert island with a
fountain pen & 1 solitary Royal Palm
He’s actually an Easter Island fetish dressed in a
tux aloft in a shuddering lawn swing surveying a
distant landscape that hasn’t got many
mouths or ears or eyes tho
the wind’s got an armload of black & white photos
swirling like so many undead shadows The
prop job hunts for any chimney it can descend into
in lieu of a dead volcano
Jack Hayes
© 2010
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4 comments:
Oh, how I love-love "the prop job hunts for any chimney it can descend into in lieu of a dead volcano". Brilliant John, just brilliant.
Hi Willow: When I wrote this I'd just flown from Dulles Airport to Charlottesville, VA in a prop airplane--like a 6 passenger plane. I hate flying to begin with & that was a truly terrifying experience!
A quick thought (this reminded me): I love the grey area between metaphor and surrealism.
Hi Dominic: Thanks--that was a thought that very much absorbed me in the mid 90s when I wrote these & other poems in the Days of wine & Roses. Thanks for bringing it up!
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