a single line that creeps in.

A SINGLE LINE THAT CREEPS IN. -Written by Taylor John.

I. How Is Your Sentence?
– I, have: no – Widow?
– (Then) How, is: your – sentence?
– Naught – by, The Sun; nor – The Icicle!
– Now – leave, those Little Gloves – and, The Pre-Loved Clothing! (Don’t – try, to undo – her, Tie..!)
– I, have – no, pretty Dressings; (nor – even, a House-Mice..?)
– Nothing – is, DIMMER! Nothing – is, as: Ugly..?
– Oh – how, I still dream, of her: Little Tempered Belly!
– But – her, ‘shaving’ – is, of, her: Daily Pursuit; worst – under, Headlights..!
– I’ve, never – known: such – Brightness; too, close – to, a dull – Spark!
– You’re, better – off! (Whoever – you, Are.)

II. Did She Pass Away?
– Did, she: Pass away?
– No, NEVER! (Whose – thought: is, THIS – anyway!)
– Then – where, is: the, helpful – Caption..?
– We, know! (We – SAY..!)
– Though – regardless, of: The Erosion : you – still, stow – away..!
– Then – whose: THE VERMIN..?

A SINGLE LINE THAT CREEPS IN.
©Taylor John, 2017.

afterword

there’s no future in writing poems

about writing poems.

 

the critics of the next age

will know you crapped out

 

with nothing better

to say.

 

This poem,

for example, is nothing

 

apart from what it says

& what it does

 

to you – to see me

go – as the

 

garden blooms –

it’s hard to know in

 

spring all that

is – shall pass.

THE CENTERFOLD.

https://thewritingsoftaylorjohn.wordpress.com/2017/11/08/part-four-the-centerfold/

[From, Langrouw: Writings From The Holy House.]
BOOK TWO: THE REVERBERANCE OF THE BLADE.
(PART FOUR): THE CENTERFOLD.

I. A Certain Class.
-Lay there – check out, this jawn!
(The Centerfold – she’s, itching..?)

II. I’m Staring At The Moon.
Glum.

I’m, staring at the moon –

Son..

III. I Haven’t Her Corner.
Straight.

I, haven’t – her,
Corner –
Mate!

IV. The Centerfold.
-Whose, fumbling on their phone?
-Daphne’s daughter!
-Whose – grunge..?
-Carley’s!
-Whose – snow..?
-Gilbert’s!
-Whose – blow..?
– Sugar’s..!

V. Grimace And The Gravy.
On –
Iodine.

Windswept – kissed,
Cheek;
Tit..

©Taylor John, 2017.

from Workers of the Hours # 2

1

I pulled out, blind
on my left, condensation
on windows on the passenger
side, cobwebs
and night dew on the rearview
mirror— pulled into traffic

and didn’t care:
if it is algorithms
we base decisions on
I hadn’t factored out
as far as Pluto
contracted with one of the moons
of Saturn relative Sirius

but I pulled out blind
on my left confident
there would be no oncoming
traffic

and when I got to the junction
of the Graveyards
and Rubbish Station
visibility was poorer
again
with dawn sun glare
over the peninsula
in the salt-whitened glass.

And I paused
then, not really checking,
as I would normally, coming
to a stand-still, at an intersection
of age, parental expectations,
low-paid worker of the hours;
all too knowing of the feeling
of Art at the nozzle, always,
waiting completion, commencement,
waiting that I abandon
travel through these forty
waged sections
of 60 minutes, and I coasted, in 2nd,
across the
oncoming
flow, stupid, as
the patterns are wholly
different
and unpredicible with repair
and rebuild
of the quake damaged
roads, buildings, and

that seen, in many areas,
do not appear much different
but as you focus in,
like DNA spirals crumbling
taking years
to be reported
on the surface
like broken bits rattling
inside an old alarm clock
—the big springs work,
but eventually the little, stiff
invisible cracks, and unrepairable
microtears will fcuk its timing up.

I cari
-ried that moment
in which I pulled onto the
main highway
without stopping
to wind down the passenger
window, all day, for days,
into this poem.

2

thinning hair, thickening there,
candle burning dimmer.
And more bright.
Less alert, more alive.
Ambition loosened off.
But tightened
where it works.
Minimum owe, maximum awe,
near complete release,
Time evolved,
like growing beards
you put up with
that worst part,
avoid the mirror, early years
yet, Evolution,
you coliseum
of Societal perfections.

unfinished scraps

because I’ve had every sickness there is,

I’ve become immune to everything.

 

I don’t care that you’re violent,

say things that aren’t true,

 

& that I talk

when it makes no difference.

 

2

 

my dog got his eye cut, & now we’re looking for some left-handed cat

last seen heading north in a black hood & white jeans.

 

Let those cunts scrap it out. But I had to fork out 116 fuckin dollars. Which is

too much alright: I guess

 

THE MUSE.

THE MUSE.-Written by Taylor John.

– The muse locks me to itself
as if it’s one cuffed
naked to a bed.
(Don’t worry, I’m not
naked!)
– Baaahaaaaa alwayd
the muse.
-ha, yep!
I am, trying to kill them all in my manuscripts! With, a
blade!
In, trying to kill, my
sheets!
Or, at least expose it to
myself!
One ball!

©Taylor John, 2017.

DIRTY LAUNDRY DRAPES HER PATHETIC HEAD.

DIRTY LAUNDRY DRAPES HER PATHETIC HEAD.-Written by Taylor John.

I Close My Eyes (Song).
V.1
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.
I’ve got – the wild cat – as, a charm;
Likes – her, lonely wounds licked: she – does alarm!

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

V.2
Hey – little birds, in the trees – are, heard;
The cool winds’ breeze – her, words..
..They fall – with, the fallen angels plea;
And, birth – with, the good Lord’s deed.

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

V.3
Yeah – I am, fed – but, I am wed;
Is all – calm? Have – the devils, made it – to, bed?
I must – apologize – for, we – are, undone;
With Thee – as, we – lay, in the sun!

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

V.4
The charm – is, in – her, arm;
The cat – is, on – her, back;
She’s working – on, that – graveyard shift:
Shit – there, aren’t – no, coming back!

Where – all, is torn – and, seems – so,
Seemingly:
Oh – me-o-my – my,
Honeybee.

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

Junk.
(I) Listen to, Junkies – with, a veil – of, wine – I hold; hands – on, the mirrored glass – of, cold sayings (I have, hold); Memories – of, her smoky room : take me – as, dew – on, the vine? (Witches – I aren’t dressed, for; all – the honey’s – that, you scold in, time!) of – bliss – brokenhearted: whether – you, so bold?

Gonna’ Say It Aren’t So.
Gonna’ say, it aren’t so;
Gonna’ sing, from thy soul:
Ache, love, hate, hear-l.

Gonna’ say, it aren’t so;
Gonna’ sing, from thy school:
Ache, love, hate, heal.

I Would Loathe To See You Dead.
I would loathe to see u dead : u aren’t no sparrow – u r (yet loved) – but, the show..?

Respect – is the knowing, and the unknowing.

Mayhem – the urge, to walk in the darkness.

Don’t ever – throw away, your notations: your bliss, your dew; ugliness – is thy feet – of which, is due.

When – push – comes, to die ; there’s, so many problems – there’s, so many lies..

Love – aches, but seeps through; is due – without, complaint?

Down To The Fig-Tree Parlour.
Hangin’ on tha’ rig, of her hips – are, arbour;
Now – down, to the fig-tree parlour..

Hunch.
Breakfast, morning tea, lunch, and her recipes’ crunch – I drink alone, for Socrates’ hunch…munch…munch…munch!

Denial Is Tha’ Bitter One Blue.
Today – I, really believe
Wisdom – has, its’ tolerance
Levels to consider?
Does – that, make
Us, humble – or, more
Distant?
Either, or – neither,
Perhaps: life –
Meant, to be complicated.

A Woman’s Hold.
Bread (alternation)…Bread (alternation)…Bread (alternation)…Bread (alternation – cushion?)

Don’t flatter yourself – flatter yourself, in one’s ear? Though, seems like you are, the winner – and he, the murdered deer…

Yeah – the dear, wife’s there: we, are gonna make some children? Oh, so loud and clear – the, dirty hands of war – do, grin?

In – gardening: mindful – of, insects : are, my words – enough, my love? Are – my words, old English grub? Wake thee, in the moment – my dove; wake thee – in, our mourning; drink thee – in, our wasted Flood..

Hysteria’s Last Goodbye.
Goodbye – lie-eyes: where’s, the woman – in, me’ eyes?

(But, if he be – a, married man: would, she marry – he; if – he, were a single man – if, he could only dream?)

A cover – a, coloured wound : she – aches, for only herself (or, does she?) Wake – me, in the morning – with, rose-petals on my bed; wake, sweet angel – give, this man his last breath; speak – sweet angel – and, draw – patterns, on my sheets: freak – dear angel – sweet, pathways – to, love..

Dirty Laundry Drapes Her Pathetic Head.
Dirty laundry – drapes, her pathetic head: on –
My souls’, shabby bed : (where –
Are, those – lovers, gone?)

(Oh, what – a monster, I
Have become!
Oh, what – Heart: she –
Most, graciously – owns;
And, sang!

Ka-Plunky.
I, awoke – at, a quarter to six: where –
Awaiting, was a most brilliant talent:
The mighty wind – so, gallant; (from,
Each benevolent cousin?)

(Where, art – Waldo?
Where, art – what, do:
Ka-plunky?)

Slick Bitches’ Glimmer.
Addiction – drags,
This mans’ fake curfew: (why –
He, is old – and,
Untouchable?)

Darker – than, ever:
He – shines, a light;
(Were – all,
The bitchin’ – free..?)

When You Undress.
When – you, undress: her – the woman : with,
Eyes – teasing, O Lust;
Her, perfect sorted nest – bust:
Thy – perfect, complaint?

(Leave, him – to, his words: ‘coz –
He’s, drunk – and, got
A beard!)

I’ve, left town; and –
It’s, a fine mystique lot:
I, had to?
(Well – I’m, on,
The spot;
Well – I’m,
A spider,
In – a, pot?)

Oh, her laugh – it,
That is, a pleasure to hear;
The smile – it,
That is broken of fear:
(O Sight – her, fight – is,
Safe!)

Thus – it, is of Lust – I,
Cloak: of, a long – rightful,
Quest – of, belonging – spoke:
Hear me – o my princess – for,
My heart, is awaiting – in,
A songbirds’ chest!

The dear, songbirds’ laughing – at,
Me – and, the junkie: word –
O word – guest,
To funky;
Maestros’ tongue – like,
A monkey?

Word – O Word – is it,
Notelet?
(O poor – O poor – diddims’
Dumpy?)

A tea – for, a garment;
O clay – of, who’s mess;
Diet – for, each body;
Ruler – for, who’s test?

She – is, thinking: the symmetry – of,
Line: are you –
Being – addressed?
Taste, it – test:

At, heists’ layman rest;
At, birds’ humble nest;
At, Loves’ bigger breast?

(Oh, there, there – I will,
Guard – the fort:
The dinner – gladly,
Sport!)

(Hang on – my, spoiled Limb:
O Heart : when – you,
Undress – her,
The woman..)

©Taylor John, 2017.

RUBBISH SPRINKLES!

Rubbish Sprinkles.-Written by Taylor John.

I. FAMILY.
I. Lucky Rats!

Law – has, won – and,
undignified most Big Teethed..?

THE RAW – Have’th, it’s
Nonsense..

II. The Smoke!
It – thought,
That – ought,
To be –
Right?

It – has been,
In everything! (Even – in,
Your,
Plastic Soul..? (If – only,
I’m –
Exaggerating?))

III. He Has A Journal!
Electrified!
It – is,
Not –
Normal; nor –
Dignified?

IV. Buy Him A Turtle!
So, he won’t smoke
It out!

(Lust – bored;
It’s, in,
Ruins!)

V. Let’s Turn Over The Covers To Show His Soul Beside Him!
-..Of, his –
Humour!

(Pages – burnt;
Rather – electrified! (Rather –
Quickly – right?))

VI. Let’s Burst The Inner Fear!
Let’s, elope – beside,
It’s SPLATTER!

I want – to,
Feel love.

VII. How Much He Got.
He said – that,
His favourite number – was,
Thirteen! (So – that’s,
What he asked; and –
What – he, got!)

(Flicked – back on; and – beside:
That RECTUM! That HIGH! That
INCISION!)

How much he got?

VIII. He Cannot Really Socialize!
No – it’s, not –
his,
Comfort!

(How – the mind,
Pumps – the,
Inner or Outer
Navel! How –
We,
Are SCORED! At,
Last! A,
Newer BIRTH!)

IX. He Has His Thumb Off’a His Mouth!
-He, bursts – now,
From..one

LINE:
He has his thumb off’a his mouth!

II. HE HAS A HEAD OF STORIES.
I. He Has A Head Of Stories!
-And,
A Head of Pussy!

(If – Art,
His –

Cradled Lover:
Hiss..! Spit?)

II. How Do We Rid OF Him!
-Catch – him,
On – his,
Seen line?

(Hurt?)

III. How Do We Catch That Star!
-What,
Star?
-The answer my friend
Life!

IV. He Thinks There Are Complaints!
-Is, he
Alright?

(But – he..!)

V. Is He Insane?
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[The, Line? -‘Hey..hey! ..Where – is,
The Song Lark or The
Body?’]

VI. Will You Pass On This Fellow.
-Mister,
What, do you want people to feel about you? And, think – of,
You?

OUTRO:
I. That Splinter How Did That Happen?
-That, Splinter – how,
Did that happen?

(I’ve, your support; hey – I’m,
Quite the same: each – line,
There a-passing;
Is, a Breath – not,
Ignorant, nor
Boastful? That – Splinter! (how –
Did that happen?)

II. Paranoia.

-Oh, what fateful line!

The Other Day.
The other day, a four or so months back – it hit,
One Ball!

©Taylor John, 2017.

up this high

up this high

up this high
my horse chipping
ice under hoof
looking down
over pine
in shadow
toward the valley
of dry winter
pasture in sun
my guide grown
in the moods of
this mountain
light assuring
me the horse
knows well how
to step & where
behind i see
ridge taking ridge
in distance
mountains of
unknown bareness
wood beast & man
up this high
known before only
in dream the wind
coming down
twisting back dust
on the sky gone
again the sky
deep with high
winds cloud
giving out
into blue
into nothing
you could paint
a buddha across

a cold up here
in the chest
from the snow
& this air
strained from
the valley & the
bits of life swinging
like washing on
a rough hung
line seen from
this far up
a cold of
the ridge up
there sharp with
light & snow
a mountain in
the white fire
of clearness

up this high
there is only
the now
the horn of
the saddle
a path
you’ve taken
are taken on
by someone
in hand
i trust
this wind
this hand
this riding
toward the
ridge a height
that holds
you in fall

up this high
you watch
in your own
good time
cloud off the
peak lasting
the breadth of
a dream that
wakes into
blue is born
out of blue
a spell
in its
your height.

Mt Satseto
Lijiang, july 2001

 

the art of lying to yourself & getting away with it

fiction about fiction about fiction about fiction about fiction about

fiction about fiction.

arse ache.

 

how long does this go on.

Bullet – 1-5

or 13. The, litany

(if you will) of pithy

observation, self-

parody but,

gentle. you’re cool really because you’re

candid about yr imperfections

& yr, dare-i say-it-forgive-me-please, derangement.

you’ve got to be mad, haven’t you, & sad but we love you,

truly.

 

irony of ironies! double irony.

triple. & so on.

 

humour is good cover for the foolishness you feel,

which you’re not fully conscious of –

the foolishness, i mean.

 

but the crowd laugh with you

so it’s all good.

how to end

I walked across

the water; saw

fish, the depth

 

from the bridge, clear

as the morning slant

of light.

 

I miss

nothing;

understand

 

how it

is, how it

could have

 

been.

This is the way

to fall or fall

 

away. I’m

disengaged & what’s

worse: the

 

circular

motion of

nature

 

or the

road

 

?