Monday, August 07, 2006
I really like Christopher Robin's stuff. Funny, elegant, sad poems. Good poems. Christopher is from Santa Cruz, California and he publishes one of the two or three best poetry magazines in the country. Aptly titled Zen Baby, you can get a copy by sending a couple bucks to PO Box 1611, Santa Cruz CA 95061.
Poetry By Christopher Robin
How will we interpret
This reluctant American incarnation?
This wasteland of cells and shortcomings…
Low budget/unfinished holograms
Shoot across scarred bellies/
Bodies we can’t translate-
That check will never be cashed
Punk rock beats gurgle up through the toilet
And mix with surrealism
At the cracklin’ Mic
This is a carnival of bullshit
The cops are right outside
Trying to make the distinction between
Those with a poem
And those without
But how can they tell?
Walt Whitman tattoos
And Emily Dickinson enemas
Buy old cars
Unmade beds smelling of schemes…
Some of us fast/
And some just sit still
to wait for the wine
To bring a supernatural dawn/
picked last for the team
or not picked at all
Some of us will break out
Off the beer/off the dole
Most of us won’t
My ink is an eternal sprint
Across these Xeroxed outsider pages
My friends and I are headlines
In the papers no one reads-
Moving so fast through the living
I fear boredom more than death
And I refuse to sleep-
The lumbering old trains pass us by
Singing their graffitied-death-rattle
while we sling emails
with lightning irrelevance-
in the city/honor what kills you
or say uncle
GIVE US A LAP DANCE-THE END IS NEAR!
The future’s givin’ a lap dance but luckily it’s too dark to see the wrinkles
so stand at attention feel that red, white and blue pride swell
She’s got two bad eyes a sore on her lip Destiny is browbeaten hunkered down ready to one up herself
She ain’t got nothin’ on Hitler, Mussolini, Cheney, DOES she?
Please board now the ship they told us would never sink
is sinking AGAIN but the sunset is amazing the record is skipping
the champagne has been pissed in so many times the universal joke IS embalmed
Worm eaten PASSE
Nobody’s laughin’ the parties been over since the first stone was ever hurled
We are limping towards our own execution the corners of our mouths clipped in irony
practiced in black-lit mirrors reading Spin Magazine
and what a story this will make!
Where we can link our ‘elevated yellow” PANIC? and government sanctioned
Is there a chat-room appropriate to make THE BIGGEST SPLASH?
Big Brother’s flipping our switches our DNA
The CIA swims in our blood
but popularity doesn’t matter anymore (until there’s a uniformed pounding at the door) right?
any more than GIANT TSUNAMI’S AND HURRICANES AND RUNNING OUT OF gasoline matter-right?
Adam and Eve don’t look beyond my fig leaf!
Whenever I FUCK Barbie and Ken have lived in vain!
But I’ll never have a car with a sun-roof anyway
as long as the Black Power movement is still treading water
MTV: what does the taste of bile reveal about 90 pound ‘girls going wild’? I’ve never seen it on the newsreel….
Retching sounds in the Women’s Studies class retching sounds on Spring Break…..
But don’t blame this generation
illiterate but downloading-all-the-deeper-meanings–plastic-band-of-cyber-monkeys….
with my phone unplugged
I get the news in my sleep via karmic reruns of a century imploding on itself
All those hometown leg-less boys could be sitting on barstools right now watching
football games holding the women’s movement back fifty years
Or shooting deer instead of Iraqi’s
my heroes will go AWOL or bomb Wall Street
But what do I know about bringing down empires? I have barely the fortitude
To tie my own shoes!
I HAVE BEEN DECLARED INCOMPETENT! ‘Born to Lose’? my planned
obsolescence was planned by me
it’s all quicksand
this American dream
and we are all at this very moment NOWHERE TO BE FOUND
praise be to Allah for that
I can’t work
I’ve dedicated this day
to snapping my fingers
and singing a chorus
with the last
heartbeat of the world
I’m a carnie animal
skipping over minefields
of loose synapses
a broken headed
of the sensual circus
lilting ghost radio
in my nerves
of a zig zagging
who I loved with
such impossible belief
I asked her to please grow up
and leave me
in the loop
of the eternal summer 8-Track
with an endless boyhood sky
and no mothers calling me home
the dummy of the furious walk
searching for an ill defined mysticism
promised to me
when the world
fell out of my skull
I dream the numbers
I own the make believe
but I can’t find a nickel
to scratch the sunshine
out of this winning day