Long Poem |
Borne
I.
the creature, the machine, the white ladder spine, the vision, the heart, the eye trapped in the mind never to return, the lighthouse communication, the dead poem, the animal, the ref...
Posted by I am David Gale on Mon, 29 Oct 2007 07:02:00 PST |
Academia |
the academics of this state have gone mad
if they think they can teach poetry!
the academics of this state have gone mad!
button collars up to their chins,
stroking pasty goatees and chanting meter
fo...
Posted by I am David Gale on Mon, 15 Oct 2007 12:42:00 PST |
Two new |
ODE TO WALT WHITMAN FROM THE NATION OBSCURA, THAT WHICH IS NEITHER AMERICA, MYSELF, POETS, ARTISTS, OR THEIR POETRY, BUT ALL OF THEM TOGETHER AS INDIVIDUALS
this city of tiny trumpets singing light i...
Posted by I am David Gale on Wed, 10 Oct 2007 04:43:00 PST |
while you got to read i wrote |
the typewriter sits on the earth
the candle holders covered in years of illuminations and endless science are by the typewriter
the empty bottles of wine and beer are by the typewriter
the cognac and ...
Posted by I am David Gale on Thu, 27 Sep 2007 11:39:00 PST |
Home of Broken Strangers |
ah, alas, alas change.
It is a face of terrible beauty,
skin cracked and shaking,
wrinkles deep set, muscles beneath wearing,
giving the appearance of an agitated exterior
at war with the inside...
Posted by I am David Gale on Thu, 13 Sep 2007 02:05:00 PST |
The Nation Obscura (final edit) |
So up in San Francisco, hanging around my apartment, I have attempted to make use of myself. I have finally editted this poem. And since I don't have the Verity Room to go to anymore I'm going t...
Posted by I am David Gale on Mon, 27 Aug 2007 11:22:00 PST |
The last thing I wrote in Los Angeles |
Tell me about waltzing with the devil
Tell me about poor Tom Thumb and late nights at the piano
Tell me about dive bars
Tell me about kneeling over a white bowl of yourself and why we never became a c...
Posted by I am David Gale on Sat, 25 Aug 2007 11:34:00 PST |
Meditation |
Experimental survival
Resting in the chastised umbra
Get ready inane worshipers, get ready for your only conscience thought
Get ready for your tour of innocence
Doors will open in heavy blue and weigh...
Posted by I am David Gale on Thu, 05 Jul 2007 03:07:00 PST |
poema |
Continuance
Oh, how it is mystery delusion,
mindless dripping into innovation and madness,
the open faucet of a cranium stool.
How it is molten candesance of a beaded river
singing dirty bass...
Posted by I am David Gale on Sat, 26 May 2007 06:36:00 PST |
Goodnight Dylan Thomas |
Howl against the aged sickness.
In the bitten cold seasons of person,
Bones as wicker, stagnated by wicked time,
As clouds ring around your eyes,
Rise above the dying of your tongue.
In birth o...
Posted by I am David Gale on Fri, 04 May 2007 03:25:00 PST |
