Protesting The Mind

[PrinceMyshkin]

edited by Logos: see below

[PrinceMyshkin]

Every hunter is marked.
The mind, in the end,
gets them all, laying bait
across its tracks, then doubling
back along its own
rank trail.


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992

[PrinceMyshkin]

Lying in another bed, my lover
dreams of rough-skinned peaches,
plentiful and free.


Around the base of the tree
a ring of children run,
taunting her. Years later


she will lie in anyone's arms,
peach juice down her chin, and wonder
if they were part of that gang.




J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992

[PrinceMyshkin]

There they are, under the pillows
again, enjoying their furtive,
late-night conversations. It's no use
telling them insanity is rude.
It's what they want to hear.


Charming suicides, they know nothing
about Mozart's worried sweetness.
All they want is to find
an applecart to turn over.
Any old applecart. Love. Or happiness.


J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992

[PrinceMyshkin]

Oh God, let's have the wit
to savour, without showing it,
the fear of death, that makes us quick,


the need for love
that keeps us, rooted, thick,
and yet forever on the move.





J. Newman Sudden Proclamations copyright 1992

[Umbilical]

I effin' love these ones.
Especially Peaches.