poem of sicknesses for the self promotion age

there are the aquariums of love

in which the world’s many unrecognized great minds, after removing shoes and sense
soak in to unwind again braving
after the absence of love letters
they checked by running their feet

along the newspaper floor of the cage pantry 
in the dark and there were no sharp corners of new envelopes

 pricking or cutting their feet, and no words that lodge themselves

like a thorn that hits blood, which is almost as good as hitting oil

there are text-screen urinals of self-promotion
who in their song turn waterfalls
that attract the green Caribbean birds of fortune,
when the promoter-motor sleeps,
in the day the marks of pecks and three-toed feet are left to prove it
like animal’s poems written in flat rocks from the pleistocene of playful

the Evangelical internet ministries of the future 
had their smocked augurs  throw shells on the table,
blowing their mystic cigars of new and ancient

uncircumcised foresight:
in these waterfalls of promotion
will be conceived, 
seemingly immaculate, the militant management
                                                  of the next generation
  (the user’s terms cannot deceive)


say into Mainframe like into a shell, an animal skull for prayers,

o great magnet fame, come fill and crush with a final wine of love my skull-bowl

that sings of loneliness, and an oppressive sobriety which led to this uploading silliness 

let me feel another’s set of fingers pressing on my skin

rewarding my use words can sometimes fail but that cannot fall

years I wandered through vast plains of self-promotion
in these provinces I learned 
from sitting down on my soul between my pants and the stony ground

to sleep alone, at night with a metal eye in my mouth for security,

I learned listening apart the music-voice chime

of the ice-spheres that made their nests

over lost villages, former deserts, flower fields that turned
cold and formal after the unrequited fall, after the disappearance
of undreaming,

undreamed bare legs and milk-breasts

upon the long rain-swept leaves

that were kept by another city,

by the gardeners of Fame when a world of the sacred still existed.




Creative Commons License
poem of self promotional odes by Arturo Desimone is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at arturoblogito.wordpress.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at arturoblogito.wordpress.com.


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