Saturday, July 8, 2017

Kit Kelen #552 - without the itch



552
without the itch
notes towards a little essay on ideology

without the itch
no dots to join
no little welt, no telltale line

scratch and your number comes
a tattoo tear, a join

without the plates, no continent

without the turn, no fold before
then sheep are stray
night never falls

without the wish
the light let out
we would be all unsneezed

without the ache
no stretch against

without the rasp, no berry

without the trap
no ratty thoughts

without the tiger, you tell me

no feet? no forward motion

without good sleep, no morning

if not the roof
a sky falls in

without a death
no stone to tomb
no little bird to light

without the door
the day is kept

consider, that is all I say
without the ant, no honey trail

without the dollar shines, no slum

no qwerty without quick brown fox
no bear in there but goldilocks

and tickle, no trust
but a hand shook off

without the fear, no unknown gods
without the gods, no lightning strikes

gone without saying, without full attention

without to-stand-for all fall down
without salute, no flag

without the beggar's hand, no coin
no time without the present
but clock keeps on

without the Blake-light plough
no worm ever forgiven

without the grey of terrier,
no dogging at the heels
no bandicoot, no boudoir

without the truth
no one in charge
no tricks without illumination

no table times, no contents

without the tune, no sympathy

without the heart, go wordless,
ragged, limp
let float
like angels must
they're mist within
and mainly cloud outside

sans seraph, we're homonculi
and make a bed for treetops
wild!
then it's succubi, baby, up there

without the scabs, no picket line
without the boss, no bastard

without the far
no hearth, no past to glory

without the memory, no stick
without the thumb, no drive
no wheel spins the disc

without the Romans
not a moment of peace
if not celestial, no umpire

without the roos, no wire slipped under
or noose around the long commute

without the trumpet, no last call
the pub goes on all night

without you're gone, I'm hardly here
without your call, I wilt as well

without the where-we-were, no map

no niceties without the wall
no dainties bar the head in jar
pickled or else salt
waste of a pike or leather for stripes
that's their kind all over

without the stretch, no somersault

without the workings, no wind down
no gold without the digging

without the notes towards, no lines
without the law, no theft of life

without the lie, no justice

without digression
no event

without the numbers – you add up!
the here because you-guessed-it

this leads us back
to the horse-shoe nail

without the cart, no hay high sprung
to ride for home
no barn loft
then you've no conception

without the itch
no dice

2 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete

  2. Terrific.

    no itch
    no dice
    no dice
    no theft
    of life

    ReplyDelete

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.