Wednesday, September 19, 2012

A.G. Synclair - Four Poems

An Ordinary Madness
 
There is nothing very ordinary in this madness
in the way we devour each reconstructed day.
Ordinary is the simple movement of a clock
or the weary assumptions of life that push
us upward each morning. Madness is the act
of conversing with birds, of drinking in a
well-lit bar. One day you will find yourself
surrounded by trees, surrounded by the
madness of a solitary life, surrounded by
a vast army of debuts and farewells.
 
 
 
Nick Slade has Left the BuildingIn my other life
I was the seed of a dogwood tree
the root and origin of dirty words
I have chosen flesh as my personal poison
faced extinction like the penny
my fight or flight response
plundered into madness.

Put me in charge
every barman will be a good listener
the regulars will die softly
in the crooks of their lover’s arms.

I was a penny then
I was a tree
I want to know why
I want to know if love
really is a dog from hell
why that tall Montana farm boy is reading Neitzche
why I should be so fond of Oleander.
 
 

On Falling in Love with a BirdYou find religion in a glass
in half empty bottles
in the twisted notes of that song
in the way she swallows you whole
in the secret hiding place
where you keep her words
a tangled language of crickets and clocks
 
 
 
Timeline

They hide in the corner
behind small things
in the mention of names
in pictures dug from a grave
encroaching upon you
like big governments
like leaders
like commanders
all vying for a drink
from the same silver cup
but no government
no leader
no commander
will drink from yours
they will be truncated
mounted on your wall like trophies
you will take them down
with one
perfect
kill shot
to the gut.
 
 
 
A.g. Synclair is the editor and publisher of The Montucky Review, a journal of poetry and prose. His work has appeared in numerous print and electronic publications, despite the fact that he holds an MFA in nothing at all. He lives, writes, and otherwise collaborates in southwestern Montana with his partner in crime, the artist and poet Heather Brager.

1 comment:

  1. I like the feel and images of these A.G. Buk-inflected but with original blood. The best way to be. I'm simultaneously frightened and fascinated by that "vast army of debuts and farewells."

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