a 'real' poem

over the last year i've posted several mock heroic poems from the collection poems written in brady's UCORE notes at 3AMish ca 2001, but i haven't posted any serious attempts at poetry. i'm a bit surprised at this oversight. although i don't claim to be a poet, i'd hate for the world to remember me for three line lyrics about thumb bites and pizza boxes.

this poem, "going to a funeral", was previously published in the 2002-2003 edition of second essence:

GOING TO A FUNERAL
he can’t feel his hands
as they creep up his chest.
like a pair of crippled spiders
hunched over a stiffened moth.
the long fingers fumble about the button.
twisting and turning, they peek
behind thin polyester.
nibbling at a thin disc they reappear
and press it through an invisible slot.
the blue-veined monsters climb.
up and up, they mount each button.
reaching the throat,
they pull his necktie taut,
like a noose.

andrew david. "yet another picture of saskatchewan" saskatchewan, canada.

tomorrow i'll eat pietro's pizza and mint tuxedos

nothing of substance in this post. instead, i responded to comments from beth, whoopee, becky, mari, and chadius (3/9, 3/23, 4/12, 4/13, and 4/18).

here's a little something from my blog cemetery. a few weeks ago, i was going to write a satirical gothic post about dreams, gothic novels, and the gre. i never got around to it. here's my rough, rough, rough draft in poetic form and embedded in a photograph:

GOTHIC by andrew

a dark, cavernous
parking garage

a gre, a feast
i come home
as imaginary spiders
crawl all over me

a bed, and i
drift off to sleep

later i see a spider

andrew david 'not quite a spider but two times as poisonous' yelapa, mexico.

a secret intermission [cont. 1]

darrrr. the rain has arrived.

if i were writing a poem, i think i'd use the title 'yet another sunset in golgotha' as my inspiration. however, the cluster of trees on the hill is much too busy for a literal golgotha and this literal incongruity might dissuade viewers from pursuing the picture any further. my only hope would be if they happened to be sitting in my living room at this very instant. in that case, they'd be privy to an unusual experience; that of my flatmate (we'll call him Mark) crooning gabriel faure's libera me (take a browse at http://www.emusic.com/album/10827/10827503.html). yep, i think a requiem (and a dark title) might be just the thing to spark interest in my nearly ordinary photo.

in the meantime, here's a pic of the mug behind the voice: