Monday, October 12, 2009

Three poems by David Mac

by David Mac

Clockwise Kitten

Kitten go clockwise
go smooth go loose
open up baby
dazzle with your brilliance

Hey now Kitten
I don’t wanna talk ’bout
the whiskers the tail,
the paws the ball o’ string
Don’t wanna talk ’bout time
Don’t wanna hear the clues
and mechanisms
and machinations
of your latest bit of time!
Don’t wanna know the sound
of tick tick chime!

Who cares which way hands move?
Hey Kitten just take that
dumb TIME-LOOK off your face!
I wanna talk about something else
no pacing and sighing
and trying to live limit and deadline

(stop looking at your wristwatch
that’s why it’s called a watch
you can’t take your eyes off it!)

Stop measuring and calculating
distances of life expired moments
spanning rhythms letting me know
how long how short is left?
and when when when?

(when is just a phoney reference slave of time too!)

And I been waiting around all this time
and it still ain’t time
I been taking time
but I ain’t got time
I ain’t making time
but I’m constantly spending time

My time my time my time
not your time
I don’t wanna know the time!
Now is not the time!
Now is not a good time!

So roll on your back Kitten
purr play slow easy
you got time Kitten

you got time left


Fucked in Eden 2

Don’t bite the apple,
Put it down.
Don’t take nothing
off that
lousy fucking

Tell him to go and

Fuck off, snake!

This is our garden,
you dumb bitch!

What do clothes matter
this story?

Anyway, just came off the phone with
and heard his word:
something about a rib,
an apple,
a snake,
and all the rest.

I’m not sure who to believe.


Angel Kerouac in the Doorway

Big angel just got in town and is out on the night,
hitchhiked here,
or maybe just jumped off the train or Greyhound to grab a poorboy of wine.
His mother at home with his cat,
just come off the railroads and gonna blow it all!
now! go!
his rucksack at his weary feet.
But he just has to dig everything right now!

Remain transfixed please, Ti Jean.

He stands in doorway and looks
into the magic scene of hustle, crowds,
could be Tangiers, Mexico city, New Orleans,
doorway from great Frisco barroom,
street of Denver gloom,
outside poolrooms, late night cafeterias,
southern whorehouse,
outside some smoky Jazz club.

Let’s talk. Let’s stay up through this night!
Smoke tea, benny tease, beery dreams!

He’s smoking and pulling hard on cigarette,
when neon bulbs blink flashing over his heavenly head.

I’m wondering where Neal Cassady is?
Looking for girls, gurls, gals!

Stand back, Jack, look out.
He sees the vision and is making notes in his concentrated brow,
and I see the notebook in his top pocket ready to take sketches
or write spontaneous pome.

This bleak photo click-flashes back to me.
His mind is open,
reeling, discovering,
not thinking,
feeling and seeing,
but in personal Dharma.

This history of Kerouac as he jumped across American landscape,
east to west,
west to south,
south to east.

Great Kerouacian triangle.

What’s he contemplate
on these streets?

But he wrote it down.
Thank you,
J a c k.

Author bio:

David Mac's poetry and prose has appeared in Ambit, Mud Luscious, Monkey Kettle, This Zine Will Change Your Life, a poetry anthology entitled 'Angel's Breath', and Clockwise Cat.

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