Sunday, 23 April 2000

From "Ten Poems"

by Lara Buckerton.

I Hate Hippies

“no, no, no, I say, our children are not our future; we are. the biggestmistake of the radical 60s is the current insistence on the generationmodel – that 60s radicals began what another generation can learn from,can carry on, can critique. the world is a displaced continuum, miasma ofdisparities – not a coherent structure of divided lineage. the truth of aman's or a woman's thought does not age, is never outmoded; the truth isalways already present, always unaccountable. when a torch is passed, thelight is out; when a torch is lit, it is lit for all.” Alan Sondheim.

turn in thy grave, till thou knock’st on the next.
larvae-musculature erupteth, & since
worm luncheon abutteth worm luncheon, flex
surgeth, till th’ light-rins’d flinch from morling grimace.
yo! flow up, thou funny sort of penance,
maggot-mutton spasming at its best pulse :
the foot-falls of the light-rins’d in Sunday bests.
nudg’d by the grume of thy vomitous mulch,
matter budgeth matter, yet po’ers lurk in gulfs,
bog gravies shimmer with ribcages turning
in ribcages like cogs, the slough ploughs itself,
yet murderers kept white to’ers, far from churning.

chances are none does touch, no dominos crutching.
yet turn in your graves, hypocrites, hippies, you, you cunts.

No comments: