The two are intoxicated, one woman collapsed
and the other in a trance. We’ve all seen the movies,
we know them. The paint handling is smooth and calculated.
A marriage of heaven and Hell – preventing the potential spread of organisms
from one moon or planet to another. Innumerable pleasures for the eye,
as well as temporal psychic shelter. I scratch out the sequence of 3 billion
chemical letters that define the human
Her voice shooting from hospitals, the promise of delights-
mostly sexual- frustratingly amorphous Nature—
A rain of burning embers streaks the sky. Tears run down my cheek.
I can only recall thoughts of a mother and father
do they belong to me? Or are they the faces that crawl
through those I have killed? Their memories somehow lick
into my mind, if it is mine still…
poetryrepairs #221 16.02:023
But what world would Oppenheimer have thought of…
Doctor Atomic…certainly he would recommend
a class of medications.
Drugged and humiliated
by a group of female students,
he vows revenge- innovative variety of sexual assaults.
Small female figure painted in custardy jism,
and disconcertingly engaged in masquerade of
his iconoclastic writings,
while filling coloring books.
These young women were involved,
usually as perpetrators in violent murders.
Those efforts were the ultimate nail
in the coffin that closed adolescence.
Sexuality and power combine
in images of submerged brutality
that implicates the viewer as a voyeur and rapist.
These findings suggest that controlling
the brain might be a simple matter of delivering
electricity to the right cluster of cells.
In the drawings, the old city streets,
cropped windows along with the narrow tapering of
My trip has not been luxurious.
I’m informed “Oppie”,
as his friends call him,
no longer goes
poetryrepairs #221 16.02:023
Oracle of Bluecreek Mountain
There is no oracle,
Like Polonius speaking of
Hamlet’s madness method
when he asked “what do you read?”
“Words words words,”
the prince replied, in his dark mind,
in his dark words.
That story is about dysfunctional
This construction is about a
relationship with words—functional
or dysfunctional as the words say,
slithering along hoping to bite,
or smiling when flowers are arranged.
All relationships begin with words,
usually end that way.
In between the alpha and the omega
it is impossible to say whether actions
define the words, or words
create the actions.
The alpha of “hello, how are you?”
to the omega of “goodbye.”
We pluck those words from Plato’s
metaphysical realm, make them as
imperfect as a final Studebaker—
always searching for the abstractions
to make real unreality real, whether a
rose, a dream, desire, electric contemplations
passing along the abstracted realm of thought,
we are three blind mice searching for the
It would be pretty to think
that there is an oracle, a Bluecreek,
mountain solid to stand upon.
Words, for awhile, capture them,
vapors in a bottle. They can’t be capped,
can’t be drunk.
for a time they prevent fording of
Lethe, baptism in forgotten waters—
only for an ecclesiastical moment.
POETRYREPAIRS #218 v15,11:144
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RALPH MONDAY, is guest editor of this issue @221 v16.c02 and a regular contributor to poetryrepairs.com