ForkWord
Poems by Inchiki
four other ways to approach the numinous
1. by the mystery of presence
cock in hole, lady enjambed in
another lady, cock in mouth
making cheek blossom somewhat
cock in armpit, hair carousel
up nose, cock up nose - snot -
another cock, probably in bottom
cock inside placemat, kitchen
aftershave, soaptray, into glass,
upended, driven by fear into journals
anonymous blog comments, tight ship
packed with cock, cotton, convicts
trade secrets sell cock on black
market along with cigarettes, bootleg
CD's, colt revolving pistols, jimi
hendrix's cock mummified in wax
pleasuring through headphone jack
deflowring sound, cock towers crumbling
as penis driven planes plunge into
plasticine vaginas, cocksure news
reports another disturbance blinking
light on a military radar, blinking
television in a hotel room falling
asleep the book still open
2. by embracing multiplicity
when i was confronted by a fork
i did not have a master
but one dusty book
which said, at the bottom of page 10
"if you chose university
turn to page 363, or if
you choose to take a gap year, turn
to page 264.."
so i placed the book down
and picked up a glass of wine
which stained my teeth
a lurid purple
like the stained robe of Hafiz
and i swore to find enlightenment
then and there
3. by a devotion to objects
one triangle which was blue
became contented
his sister (sister you ask?)
of a red colour
challenged the blue triangle:
"you claim that the three
dimensions
including our sacred hypotenuse
are nothing to
a square -
show me this square
which has absorbed
you in contemplation
wipe that
benign smile from
your face"
to which the blue
triangle replied
"your life is tangled
in the dreams of triangles
you live in a triangle
world. but i have seen
what i have seen"
and blue triangle
spoke with all the authority
of an eclair
4. by approaching the river
this prized flow
amber in colour, relinquishes
its bubbly grip on the inside of the tap
and waterfalls into an empty glass
- might be mine
observed through glass, the
human breast seems womanly
but when it is lifted
we see that it is whole and manly
in the poet's mind imaginings like
aquatint fluorescences
tumble into view --- and
out again --- the pen records their going
the pen that is a crutch
on emptiness --- how the poet
leans on his crutch
this prized flow /amber in colour
words also flow from the tap
i had a master whose words were true - i can't remember
if i had this impression at the time
or afterwards, on reflecting
that passport to the truth
the word
holds in its skull
a little flame -
stamp it out
