ForkWord
Poems by Inchiki
so far so far fruit machine
so far so far
All the fish in Alabama got a massage from their mama
two little fishy hands on the back of a viola
like this poem if you like it
or wash your hands of it
tea time, coffee hour
incense amusement in the insane arcade
this corner of the life-ride
tear a patch from yr bee-hinde
what is it all about so
what is it all about?
i just need to focus on the question
i just need an hour or two to so sort it out
gimme that placemat Australian flag beer holder device
impeccably folded about a two penny canteen order
how about we talk it over
how about we chew it over for an hour
inside my brain - two halves - like a pear sliced open
likewise the disconsolate vowels move me
and these pairings seem pleasant but unconnected
fruit tree - fruit tree - fruit machine - open sewer
peel open yr mama however whatever two halves do
two halves don't do, or maybe wanna open to another
insectoid placenta father further open to a mama
likewise famously anemone opened to another - and closed
pull my arm off pull my leg off pull my finger
get a sugar bowl full of foamy indecency, feed it back into the slot
pull my arm again pull my leg off pull my finger off
click clack front and back, clattering down the princess highway
in an ole jalopy made of melons
made of sliced fruit
falling open
only
to the insider
the bewitch queen
ameoily - wherewhile fantastic
play of light through fingers
indelicate exposure half oppressed
i would like to understand that too
but the two halves are disconnected again
like a spare wheel in the trunk
that doesn't feel the road directly
but savours the roar
from a safe enclosed dark and musty place
dreaming that one day
it might kiss the hot asphalt
lips and hips
nuts and bolts
bits and parts
lifts and left
i am a world weary worm mammoth
buying my time between spasms
left école to study jewels
jewels flowing through my fingers
unbelievably bored, morose
bored of trinkets beached whales
to be buried in the subjunctive mood
is to be damned, eternally damned, in dreams
re: words cannot touch
>>>words cannot touch
>>>that which cannot be said
re:re: words cannot touch
>>>>but that which cannot be said
>>>>touches all these words
life just gets more and more complex
heading for the big spring cleanout
in my head
in my deathbed - wipeout gameover
there is a purity to ignorance
which is fascinating, draws us in
purity in ignorance is called innocence
raped by that old rogue, experience
raped again and again and again
cigarette in his old screwed mouth
i am familiar bending over to that old fetishist
eventually i will wear the leer myself
i'd like to begin the beguine again
have soft hands again
handle the old slippery fish
life is complex now but it is rich
having children changes everything
like a hole in a shopping bag
i stand and watch the resulting dissaray
with sweet bemusement
