or, you can hear me read just the poem
this poem is from 1991 poems, Fugitive ABC's.
Taj Mahal.
Burp furor.
These are some little things
that don't have any meaning.
"If they have no
meaning, why write them?"
I write them because
they have no meaning.
Is he a high hope Pope?
Or a magnificent downer.
He's a meaning hog.
Lay French out for German to scarf.
Watch German, watch Japanese
Watch Black, watch White
Watch mixtures.
The chemistry of the Earth
Test tube babies, choosing
the sex of the infant.
Don't drag your down into
depression.
The biological time Assumption
of our Lady of Seniority.
The Goddess of the Goddess of
the semi-artificial man.
Artificial inseminal
stupidity.
Oh the wonders of . . . . the
wonders of . . . .
What was the subject?
The Goddess of the Taj Mahal,
biological slums
the arch new man playing with
his beanbag.
Germ warfare. First
animal-to-man graft in 1964.
Oh the wonders of
man-o-pause.
The Pause that menstruates.
PMS throws "she's on her rag" out the door.
Mood control. Intelligence for all including the
Barbarians.
Artificial insemination ovulation.
Brains without bodies!
Chemicals to banish sanity.
Moral horse pills.
A vision of an armchair
reveler.
How much fun can you have
sitting down?
Transplantation ultra-centrifuge.
Two halves of the brain reading two books at once.
The Empress, favorite wife of a Mogul Emperor
dreamed up the Taj Mahal.
The Goddess of the dream was her imagination.
Eternal life, deep frozen, comes to light.
Who-Am-I pills.
A beautiful dream in marble.
My rolling desk chair travels.
I can't afford a ticket but I write
And the world's marvels turn into marble.
The vision of the Taj Mahal took dope to
bring it into reality.
An old Sage appeared before
the Emperor
and offered an architect the
drug
Super-thought for brain to
brain links.
I am in your brain
regenerating your organ,
the organ Bach played on.
Meaning so big it demands
acceptance.
The architect drank the
unknown drug and
the wondrous Taj Mahal
brain-linked to
the Empress vision revealed
itself in all its
lack of clichés.
Poetry is brain stimulation,
energizing lost cells.
The late Lord Brain, eminent
English neurologist
said scientists must clean up
the bathrooms
of their laboratories, roll
up their sleeves
and deal with the aftermath of
their deposits
in the social world of now.
Responsibility to the
population density of the
A Bomb
B Bomb
C Bomb
D Bomb
E Bomb
F Bomb
G Bomb
H Bomb
I Bomb!
So the architect, sage-drunk,
finished every detail
of the Taj Mahal plan,
vividly, meaning
"gem of buildings."
And, eight-sided, it grew
white high,
minaret slendered,
on a platform of red
sandstone overlooking
Jumna River.
Persian gardened such as in
Kashmir.
And the dream wrought from
the Empress
favorite of Shah Jahan at
Agra
can be seen under bright
moonlight
reflected in cypress-lined
pool
to all lovers of armchair
onyx,
jasper, carnelian the inner
false tomb
of floral marble screens
surrounding her & his
pretended thereness
as the sun strikes intricate
dawn up
lighting the jeweled cenotaphs
Kuwait, Saddam,
Haiti, Yugoslav
Khmer Rouge, Tainanmen Square, Prague
Berlin, the Kurds, Ethiopia, Detroit,
Tibet
Jerusalem, L.A., South Africa, Romania
Austin, the new Nunavut, Japan
Aspen, Washington DC, Russia, Magic Johnson
irreversible ozone anti-viral
depletion
monster ingenious notorious
gene-splitting
immunity murderers, genetics
in the deep-freeze
thaws,
the real dead are under the
Taj Mahal
17th Century reflection of
the gasping obstruction
of the near end of the 20th
radiating cancer balls on the
pool table
"I have been saying for
30 years
to stop this Population Monster,"
Norman Barlaug of the Green
Revolution says
but the gangrene of meaning
intervenes
in the no-hospital future,
the no hospitable now,
"If we can't do this
then
it's a losing ballgame,"
&
putting human waste back
in the soil, rather than the
rivers.
We are what we waste.
He faces the portals of a
slower Second Green Revolution
through the daze, through the
days going by
the pattern of the poets
growing
a spider web of words spun
hot out of the body
no meaning, just song, long.
So saying
I cover the time
bomb
the cloned people passing out
from lack of intervention
if everything is left to its
own waste
it composts
the oncoming, incoming
snow
knows.
The human-oriented news
confuses.
The focus is all us.
Us'ens.
No lessens.
Oh vision that took 22 years
to build.
Take a hundred, near Delhi,
tomb of beauty I can't really
see.
The imagination of nonsense
is my goddess.
Honesty is the best
back-pocket policy.
Put your money where
your heart is,
or your heart
where hope.
High hopes.
Are hard.
A simple hope
isn't simple
an epoch crashes
into the questions it has
raised:
Inside the great echoing dome
echoing whispers and a cat's
purr
here
my little house
is all I don't control.
Brain to body gives up to
link fate
our Lady of Grandiose
Principles
echoes
from the real tombs
underground.
larry goodell / placitas, new mexico
December 30, 1991
from Fugitive ABC's, poems from 1991
you can hear this read, it's a bit over a minute
I uncategorically deny that I did nothing,
that would cause anyone any harm anywhere,
said nothing, or pretended to do anything
that would cause anyone any harm anywhere,
whether they were connected or not connected
to any organization under my thumb
or having caused sexuality among any of my
employees, or did I ever produce indecent sperm
in public or pretend I was top jock or bottom
jock, and I absolutely do not recall any
amoral, certainly no immoral flaw in my superfluous
character which shall remain a shining example
as it always has to our youth, our office girls,
who have the immaturity to scream every time I
flash.
larry goodell / placitas, new mexico
New Year's Eve, 1991
(Two poems from the last two days of 1991) lg
(Two poems from the last two days of 1991) lg
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