Friday, June 30, 2017

A Poem to Marina Abramovic by Mike Foldes

O, Marina (Distended Version) Abramovic

I do not want
to see anyone
cut themselves.
I do not want
to see anyone
I do not want
to carry a body
to the grave,
or to an ambulance
because they have ingested
too many colored pills,
put a needle
between their toes,
into lifeless arms
or under eyelids.
Who done up
these sorrows,
Assessing, subtly
casting stones
in some direction
directionless living
observer, observed
subject and subjected,
jackal and slave.
How unclever to discover
in the deeply enriched
entrenched echoing ego
asshole observers
sitting up straight
straight up your ass, man,
straight up your ass,
veil of veils…
vile pleasure in pain
mixed autonomy
mild anxiety
that can, too,
be mined
if one has a mind
bringing out the best
where the worst
is the best it gets.
Imagine that
Cling to your carpet
One with carpet
One with wall
A squall gathers
At the door,
A squall gathers
In your belly,
A squall gathers
In the room
Where everything
Moves magisterially
Passing priests pissing
Blood on the path
To purgatory,
Barking dogs,
Hissing cats,
In holiday season
Medial lobotomy
Santa Claustrophobia

Take a flyer.

What the fuck else
can happen.

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Mike Foldes is the founder and managing editor of Ragazine, an online literary magazine. He is also the author of "Sleeping Dogs, A true story of the Lindbergh baby kidnapping," and "Sandy: Chronicles of a Superstorm," with artist Christie Devereaux." 
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