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Benny Langedyk - 6 poems

4/26/2016

0 Comments

 
Picture
1. Only You Can Prevent Metaphysical Subterfuge

SUN
(do you reel side slapped? of course! draining fingertips to the corner of my spinal cord, and since I gave myself the ability to write well so help me god/three wolves I will write I will let the water pouring onto my keyboard magnify the ever-reverberated magnetism and the OVERBEARING THUD
OCCURING EVERY SO OFTEN/
THOUGH IN THE DARK AND OUT-OF-PHASE/
parts I can hear your effervescent and delicate piano licks compressed
out of bone site and the
song is gone, poof, so I will hyper-beam up a drawing of my Dad sloping into octaves of himself, thud, crash, and are you sure you want to download that
    Garageband soundpack, man? I don’t really need the extra ~GigAByTes~ or, uh, well...alright. Whatever. No, seriously, it’s fine.
The inherent and sometimes negligible account
THAT                          [almost]                          EVERY
single time the phone rang I turned down the volume; ...so what?
    that every crumpled bill sent across night-vision future Cameron House
dreadnought; it’s only $5. Wait, this is a good experience, make it beautiful, Benny!
         I know you can do this.            ​
SPLOFF:         Hey bro; just phoning to see if you’re still alive?     
              King Queso       via     Snapchat:    yoo dawg, how’s Lucy?
         Mark w/o pseudonym:          Wanna come downtown tomorrow night?  

    ...oh...err...hmm...uh...well, I better unsheathe my guitar tendrils &
let a broad
    mitten of conceit threaten the beautiful riff returning:
             this shake in my thighs is becoming too much
     to bare.      I will write more poetry.      we are all Darth Vader.
              More will come.)

MOON
(about the switches deep inside my common brain? about the back pain melting against the rocky hills inside my mouth, these teeth ache from the food I haven’t eaten and when
     that damn      fuckin   
     bright light shining in my sleep shining when I wake up shining in Alf’s class shining in the ashtray of my ear holes where my consciousness takes baths
    and it’s  jus t     a ro use    to ge           t you     
near   me. Really? ...a rouse? Kinda lame. Only that can be a chapter in the foreboding Ani-Slicing and turn the faucet let yer hair spiral from all dimensions and when
     the walls fade like October remind
yourself that hell has frozen over and there’s not-a-lot you can do about it.
    
SHADOW)
(Freshly repaved : : : thoughts of slickness
        while drenched in sickness. The feels in my gut agitate
September and November so well that the KIK drum really makes me
    envision an ace in your sleeve until the
             fire temple puzzles and why do I only write to the end of albums? are you only an ash-fueled vision? my pajama pants muddle the answer:
        will I ever innovate?
            if I surround myself in seraphim cancers and
    only     sometimes the gut smashing twinkle low pass filter
             taser are the taser? can you unbrain your hook?
                  are U&ME as children long gone? uhh, do you want me to stay
                          and stop my arm hair from growing?
                ....and wait!!!
                this one’s important!!!!
                should I cannibalize Mark tomorrow?)


          these are important and above all else, interesting questions.

***

2. Itches

I like triads. 
I like triads that stand in the foreground of a roadblock sunset. 
I like triads that darn with a creepy wink and make bets on scrap.


I lick triads. 
I like triads that properly display their wattage. 
I like triads that tower over one another to shift their leafy ruffles.


I, like, triads. 
I like triads that stretch. 
I like triads that boyfriend. 
I like triads that lay malignant beneath the Commonwealth.


I fuck triads. 
I like triads that are firmly planted but futile. 
I like triads that are steady but trying to wibble-wobble.


I like triads. 
I like triads that whorehouse to one another. 
I like triads that sniffle, bet, and beseech.


I lie to triads. 
I like triads all covered in ramifications. 
I like triads all covered in manipulated shed. 
I like triads all covered in my life through the inferno. 


You like trees.
Buuuuuuuuut...
I like triads with our tender arrows carved into a hearth.

I like triads with an endless splinter of ripples. 
Yogis and Yogis of a lighter.


I like triads. 
For you and for me and all the beetles that be. 
I like ‘em.


Hahahahaha!

***
3.  
the hermit the empress the lovers

tender winter coat
    clang elated chills

the rock tumbler etches.
    I see your messages
and glance at my writing.
    you authorize paragraphs
    to caffeinate the attic of our
    full stops and muffins,
    
while I can hardly pen more than
a     few lines before the WiFi
I’m       stealing draws an “L” on my forehead.

    Ritualistic, stringing together
scratch fibs and vanilla hail blizzards in the
afterthought of a Mansfield launch.  
        Hydroplaning over

the speedy sea that sent us breaded.
She draws a hermit crab smiling
in Florida, a mirror cup paralyzes,
the sand weighs more than green tea,

she draws the empress on her sleeve,
sighing on the spiritual interstate as
a milk treat Canadian embarrasses Silencio.

finally she draws the lovers in the car with
    her step-dad. Shaking across highway 6
    as the murderer in Elora Gorge blushes.

***
4. Sixteen and Hating This Writer Jabroni or the First Dumb Poem I Wrote or Hot Lemon or Killin’ Spree

he’s masturbating

,
but he’s
doing it while writing his “stories” about homeless guys & uh “providence” &
         
I’m looking back and
forth and I can’t tell which hand
is doing which
task.
now facebook says you’re typing, tho really you’re just
making quotation marks hug the love quotes from novels
I reaaaaaally don’t like, c’mon I know they’re not meant 4 me.

now I’m drowning, where the fuck is my submarine?
Underwater as synonyms dissipate,,,slipping out of my fears and bottling effervescence, you’re a missile launcher...

***

5. 5:30am in the Trunk of a Jetta

[waking]
droop on couches among
 drooling sycophants popping
   dro through the constant shifting
     demi-sky that yodels about this morning.

tingling branches effervescence small
 tinctures tango with totalitarianism, tug
   the string and my psyche unravels in glee.
    will waking up soon be the death of me?

[dreaming]
my eyes have frozen over, I squint through lower
quadrants to peek at oncoming traffic.
terrorized by my student banking plan, the psycho
charges me with a government javelin. pools.
mirroring myself institutionalized, penning letters
to high hopes, neglecting to inform my cellmate
that I still watch Indigo League, a refraction of
violence, I pacify mongrels to scorpions and
assemble Lego sets that accelerate my ne’er-do-well
transcendentalism, three wands cast poorly
phrased poetry, repurposing those wands into
the stilts that took this piglet across Lake Ontario.
Leave with the Knight of Pentacles hurling horror in
bleeding tunnels while tinkering with a low pass filter
humming Heimdalsgate like a Promethean Curse,
boogie down to Groslandic Edit and skip past a
Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger. Little rituals.

[void]
[judgment]
[and, well, three I guess]
between lumps that crinkle like cellophane which
bludgeon thick sharp X’s into my arm,
a cat call crusted the light, dilate
lakes of mirror, stickers splotch
sriracha sauce, and then I hesitate:
    what happens when our minds dissipate?
    I sit cross-legged by the precipice and glance down laughing.

***
6. An Aeroplane Brakes (After Siberian Breaks)

I.

Gimme a phone-call
A bell bottom sneaks at the cocaine jar.
she whines when her nose feels funny.
Just the powder melding with the ingredients of you...

It's orthodontic--

Yoshimi chills in the waiting room
She asks without sophistication:
"Are any of my dreams ever flavoured with orange?"

Where's the airplane, where's the tent from my basement?
If I don't read him, Oscar’ll have to be patient.
& now the shed has grown so old
                                                    so old
                                      grown so old 

II.

Trade all our charms, or wallets, or rooks
The disconnected arm beats the chorus that's chanting the hook

Do you miss me in this traffic jam?
My posters could not give a damn. 

Hali-bound plane, eight oh six pee em,
the twenty ninth day, my fingers all yell "ahh, fuck 'em" 

No more than a week, you digress. 
Since we're clever, I'll claw at your dress
‘til it’s sickening. 

I memorize all my mistakes.
Though I tried my best.
kissing the neck
watching the night, 
finding your flight can't be hard with a credit card.

Yo Julia, we’re a treasure hunt!
the drywall is broad 
& you shotgun 'til I see the blunt.

Though Oakville's alright from the lake.

It's El Zilch-o before your intakes.

Cash from the drama flails into your pants
The bolder we are, the Sharpie suggests alto clef.

But where was Abell thru it all?
His viola shines right through the walls.
And the freeways.

But Chloe will be home any second.

Between three & five
LOL-ling away
Chopping stories
Heads spun around like Bill Nye, bite marks on my eye.

Meeting people,
Testing shark-tooth,
Valiantly gripping my face, they're in Ginsberg--
—not the guy.

Spilling my Joe,
Doubting our sex.
Let's just escape to our minds, if you find the time.

III.

The waiting room brewing me hidden sugar 
To know that all our teeth are closed

Some came here to tarnish me with their advert
Timothy's always fuelled my blues

IV.

The evil crook Billy sits so that I can watch TV.
Too bad the s he ad has got so old 
Yoshimi froze near me to read about Letterman

The she-d will d
                             ie like that I am old
                       Hali-boun
d plane is o

nl y day-old



My boss fi

       ght   s are cycl
ing  dwn  the


     r      oad            sss 
                                                                                        *click*
ASK ME ABOUT HIDDEN SUGAR!!!!!!!!!!
BURIED IN YOUR FAVOURITE DRINK!!!
Think about it & hope the pulse returns
to thumb the corners of your Wao!
Straight to the drive-in again! 
Fucking all your hungry ploys!
To sit there honking with your mother 
& receive just a thumbs-up in response. 

I.

Slow down the morning,
I told you I needed to sleep in. 
Wednesday saw therapy & Julia 
Thursday saw my real neglecting of Job

These things are the kindling 
I used to put up my siding,
I'll wait until the paint has scratched off
& you’re laughing at my eternal cavities.

0.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No    . No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. o. No. No. No. No. No. N!o. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. no. N      . No. No. No. No. No. No. N o. No. No. No. No. No   . No. No. No. No. No. No. No. N   o. No. No. N          o. N o.  N     o. No. No. No. nno. N     o. No. No. No. N    o. No. No  . No. N   o. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Nnnno. No. No. No. No.    No. No. No.  No.          No?                               No. 
  No. N       o .N o      .N o . . N        o.  .  n.No. . .      .  N o     . O.....    ^_^



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