reading poetry on facebook
is like wearing a condom on my eyeballs–
something slippery & nylon
between the cornea & the lens,
so it’s my eyes
that are the problem
& the brain that squats behind them
plus the 65 years of reading
they’ve done mostly
on paper
but it wasn’t always on paper -
Homer was this blind old fart
who wandered about
singing & banging
a garbage tin lid
& if he was cooling it
with a few bottles of vino
on Mount Olympus with his mates
what would he have made
of Wordsworth & Coleridge –
where’s the blood in them …
so I look across at my old yellow
Waste Land & I want to crawl
in between its Faber cardboard
all fusty & dusty & modernist
but it’s with Allen Ginsberg now
the shakiest brains of our generation
are not destroyed by madness or
marijuana or sodomy –
all it takes, my dear, is time
& that glow leaking through a screen.
posted with permission of Rae Desmond Jones
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