Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Two poems by David McLean

purloined letter

and here i hide nothing
by affecting to show it everywhere,
as it fills bowls of dusty fruit
and flowers that, though living,
grow as though they were artificial
to show the happy plastic
we carry in us
to wrap night up in,

the dead essential
in each of these,
my living things,
all the happy corpses in no sun
where nothing goes to get
her riding done

so here we hide obfuscated everything
and nothing cums



and we are an Actaeon
no dog would follow,
though we carry Freud's fabled
sausages in our pockets,
those scribbling has written,
thick and delectable things,

just a happy symbolic absence,
because the most rational discourse
voids into mystical garbage,
because death needs living
without symbols, scars
or symbolism,

as Lacan might have mentioned,
just cymbals and the terrible tympanum,
“time and desire and shit”

Author bio:

David McLean is from Wales but has lived in Sweden since 1987. He lives there with his dog, Oscar, and his computers. In addition to seven chapbooks, McLean is the author of four full-length poetry collections: CADAVER’S DANCE (Whistling Shade Press, 2008), PUSHING LEMMINGS (Erbacce Press, 2009), LAUGHING AT FUNERALS (Epic Rites Press, 2010) and NOBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN BUT EVERYBODY WANTS TO DIE (Oneiros Books, June 2013). His first novel HENRIETTA REMEMBERS is due in 2014 from Unlikely Books. His seventh chapbook SHOUTING AT GHOSTS is out with Grey Book Press. More information about McLean can be found at his blog

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