By Peter Peli
two illusions i have; dreams and reality
-
one size fits all -
and between them i hesitate,
the sickly summer is congenial.
visions and hair equally dishevelled -
one size fits all -
grandiose ordinary,
and styptic egalitarian.
circumstances take longer.
duties and proximity,
the slovenly events of the world circle around -
overgrown anticyclone.
our shadows stay behind even if we
finally move -
one size fits all -
bureaucracy, hypocrisy,
cups of spirits of salt.
love of thought/love of life
caught
thinking under the influence
(of recreational polemics)
caught in the fine mesh of sequential discontinuity
we splash around in the pool of our extravagant assumptions
and dream of the ambitious accident of induction
moreover
plagued by the weak theory of reason
we can't afford the burden of heritage
we can't refuse the appeal of conspiracy
likewise
with bogus intentions and distinguished results
we apply the precision tool of coercion
we apply ourselves as prime tools
through congested moments
with or without the wisdom of an hour
with or without the benefit of doubt
like so many observant lunatics
admirable and abominable
in principle
as good an ideal to live by
and of spontaneous faith
perhaps we are mental for each other
perhaps we are meant for each other
furthermore
guided by the twin ushers of life,
forethought and afterdrink,
methinks
we ought to keep the rules only we should break them
in search of an ode
oh compound adjectives
so laminated and oftentimes synoptic
fly me over a precipice, over a promontory
be my succubi
mercenary and incendiary
agitate
this stunted ballad and parade
or be fragile
like the snow rose, the glass panther
and foul and exuberantly dire
poppyseed fish and rhubarb stalk on fire
bust up the sickly reason
that like a winged goat
with baboon conscience bleat and bloat
whip up my aversion
tenfold
let me detest, let me abhor
but most of all
be peculiarly purposeful
a sparrow-camel in heat
with piezoelectric feat
else i shall abandon your extravagant burden
and lachrymose commiserate
integer and angina
you look so uneven from here
sort of sex-bleached
the seed of dawn still in your hair, in your eyes
candle fiancée of the suburbs
with spare parts
to be disavowed and tenderized
i see the echo in your eyes
full of andante
and a cocooning impishness
white will-widow
mother-of-pearl
mother of bulls and milk
head full of body job
you deal in smuggled dreams
czarina of immaculate contraception
waltzing to girlish bathroom sounds
mechanical pleasures and smiles
daddy would be proud of you
and i am sincerely yours
light washing, strong toweling
so once advised me my favorite uncle
one of my role models
a bright, drunken & lost man
which reminds me
the highest praise i ever received
was when after one of the student concerts
my music professor called me a real marxist composer
whatever that might mean
also when i was just a kid the very same uncle told me that i will make
a first-class hooligan
& thereby greatly exasperated my poor mother
well, the way i look at it
if you live by the road, you die by the road
even know we
by & by
the discount visions
the cosmetic smut
and the wheels of non-governmental profiling roll on
in-synch & off-key
our place
by & by finds us
somewhere, under
the blinkers, in the elbow room
things we are born with
regardless
that we walk thru life slender & legless
in a state of perspiration
to keep boredom going
we learn to deconcentrate
on a ceaseless tide of disinterested disinformation
by & by
and pick the juju-birds instead
any old residual interagency
and we pass thru turnstiles
like so many tired astrologists
and try to hallucinate
and by & by
what we hear we repeat
Peter Peli
bio: born in hungary ('71), international high school
in wales, math at harvard, music with ivan tcherepnin,
art history at the u of chicago, lots of travel, never
enough, currently teaching and studying at ELTE in
hungary (american studies):