Nicolau Teixeira
All characters and events in this poem are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Every character is taken from life; every one of them; not one of them is invented.
Every character is taken from life; every one of them; not one of them is invented.
K-hole
after Danny Kaye on The Muppet Show
It matters
what u put inside ur body
like it matters,
matter of fact,
what’s in our air,
& aired out,
what’s really the matter
assumes a pattern
to highlight this life.
what u put inside ur body
like it matters,
matter of fact,
what’s in our air,
& aired out,
what’s really the matter
assumes a pattern
to highlight this life.
What’s the matter with me
depends on what’s the matter with u
& what face u put on ur old lunch box.
depends on what’s the matter with u
& what face u put on ur old lunch box.
It most definitely matters.
It may not matter to a General
Inspector, but it matters to a Heart of Fire.
Inspector, but it matters to a Heart of Fire.
It also matters which language version of history
ran alongside all ur duplicitous Tinder Boxcar lines.
ran alongside all ur duplicitous Tinder Boxcar lines.
Just like it matters
which Ugly Thumbnail & Steadfast Duck was on the floppy disk,
& which Soldier Queen & Freckled Trunk was on the hard disk,
& which Little Air’s New Clothes were burnt on the compact disc,
& which Goblin Stone’s Shadow in Jester-Jagger Face was on the digital disc.
which Ugly Thumbnail & Steadfast Duck was on the floppy disk,
& which Soldier Queen & Freckled Trunk was on the hard disk,
& which Little Air’s New Clothes were burnt on the compact disc,
& which Goblin Stone’s Shadow in Jester-Jagger Face was on the digital disc.
It really mattered
which Cupboard Indian Match figurine stood fixed by its Achilles
heel, hooked in on the wee peg of a plastic flying-saucer disk,
made in order to display self™ on the shelf,
& shine like a Psyche Technicolor red kite
tethered down to a representable being
with fine string as light as spider web.
which Cupboard Indian Match figurine stood fixed by its Achilles
heel, hooked in on the wee peg of a plastic flying-saucer disk,
made in order to display self™ on the shelf,
& shine like a Psyche Technicolor red kite
tethered down to a representable being
with fine string as light as spider web.
Once again, I foolishly try to take another layer off this center-nesting doll,
as a litany of lighthearted Russian composers play on to passions intensely,
& I watch the masterpiece of The Red Shoes for the thousandth time,
only a fraction the amount of times I’ve heard Ariel’s voice
crashing up against the Pisces waves of Proteus,
with her dickie-bird heart,
as a song was born,
to be a part
of our world.
as a litany of lighthearted Russian composers play on to passions intensely,
& I watch the masterpiece of The Red Shoes for the thousandth time,
only a fraction the amount of times I’ve heard Ariel’s voice
crashing up against the Pisces waves of Proteus,
with her dickie-bird heart,
as a song was born,
to be a part
of our world.
As if being caught red-handed by the Wonder Man, You’re
watching that show, again? my only father would state to me
with disapproval & concern & with emphasis on again?
watching that show, again? my only father would state to me
with disapproval & concern & with emphasis on again?
Yes, Daaaaaaaaadddddddddddddddddddd,
just widening my outsider perspective
as I insert kind, bumbling idiot chips
into my anti-social-yet mobile ship
so as to be sure my heart will hear
Morse cassette codes as clear as a Beach
Boys’ tune inside my red Sony Walkman—
just widening my outsider perspective
as I insert kind, bumbling idiot chips
into my anti-social-yet mobile ship
so as to be sure my heart will hear
Morse cassette codes as clear as a Beach
Boys’ tune inside my red Sony Walkman—
Just in case I ever am to be signaled
like the chosen living baby warship
sounds off calling out to Aeryn
Sun now—knock on wood—
ENTER: A Wrinkle in Time.
like the chosen living baby warship
sounds off calling out to Aeryn
Sun now—knock on wood—
ENTER: A Wrinkle in Time.
Science fiction understands me
trying to understand the science
of the mass of the media fiction
& what’s the matter with our country
& what really matters in this world
of life
that’s been given to us
by balls of energy conductors.
trying to understand the science
of the mass of the media fiction
& what’s the matter with our country
& what really matters in this world
of life
that’s been given to us
by balls of energy conductors.
U know something,
a character named Nigel could have been the host of The Muppet Show
if he wasn’t such an uncharismatic, sniveling, little wimp!
a character named Nigel could have been the host of The Muppet Show
if he wasn’t such an uncharismatic, sniveling, little wimp!
I pray.
I do.
& I pray & I beg
for a ginger snap slap
to knock me out of this
merry ship-shape-shift
& make me submit already
on the double, once & for all
& stop caring
about what matter is put into
this dummy changeling vessel,
& willingly watch Whatever & kill
time with brand new reboots by Arius’s son,
The Man with Fiery Red Eyes, waiting
only waiting,
to blow snow white smoke up my nose,
selling me Mandy that the Red Coats lost,
& the slave & the dandy, Caliban & Ariel,
are not being used for the business of show
to sell salt-of-Peter cathedral scarlet letters
for shame
& this is the Age of an Air Sign.
I do.
& I pray & I beg
for a ginger snap slap
to knock me out of this
merry ship-shape-shift
& make me submit already
on the double, once & for all
& stop caring
about what matter is put into
this dummy changeling vessel,
& willingly watch Whatever & kill
time with brand new reboots by Arius’s son,
The Man with Fiery Red Eyes, waiting
only waiting,
to blow snow white smoke up my nose,
selling me Mandy that the Red Coats lost,
& the slave & the dandy, Caliban & Ariel,
are not being used for the business of show
to sell salt-of-Peter cathedral scarlet letters
for shame
& this is the Age of an Air Sign.
After the nightclub incident,
my train left me carrying my name.
my train left me carrying my name.
I am the boy with The Red Balloon.
I am the Man with Visine Red Eye.
I am Prospero,
unavoidably mad,
predictably disappointing.
I am the fog
finally getting run
over by my esteem
train’s oblique view
I never expected
& it ain’t no sin
to take off your skin
& dance around in
bones to Terpsichore.
I am the Man with Visine Red Eye.
I am Prospero,
unavoidably mad,
predictably disappointing.
I am the fog
finally getting run
over by my esteem
train’s oblique view
I never expected
& it ain’t no sin
to take off your skin
& dance around in
bones to Terpsichore.
This life
is an energy deprived
of any atoms that matter.
It’s a blood brother of Human
Bondage. In Brooklyn, stuffy, snotty
thoughts, of the star-strutted rot of
Denmark, keep making me rat-sick
@ heart, ill-at-ease, trying to get by,
once again,
as five little piggy pens hold
up my apple cheek of tongue.
is an energy deprived
of any atoms that matter.
It’s a blood brother of Human
Bondage. In Brooklyn, stuffy, snotty
thoughts, of the star-strutted rot of
Denmark, keep making me rat-sick
@ heart, ill-at-ease, trying to get by,
once again,
as five little piggy pens hold
up my apple cheek of tongue.
I am a rhubarb sausage Chinese longevity noodle sliding through a red ribboning wormhole.
This life
is supposed to be
such happy times.
is supposed to be
such happy times.
C’mon,
Katratzi happy already!
Katratzi happy already!
This life
of deviated septum,
while outside,
somewhere,
what's the matter?
It somehow physically pained
me to be unable to figure out
how Marvel girl Jean Grey’s soul
could exist as another Phoenix
burning up @ the same end.
The numbers didn’t add up
right. It didn’t make sense.
me to be unable to figure out
how Marvel girl Jean Grey’s soul
could exist as another Phoenix
burning up @ the same end.
The numbers didn’t add up
right. It didn’t make sense.
The only lie I could come up with
to rest my professor brain’s torment
was that it simply had to be the exact same
reason why the Wicked Witch of the West
could not touch the red shoes on Dorothy’s feet—
to rest my professor brain’s torment
was that it simply had to be the exact same
reason why the Wicked Witch of the West
could not touch the red shoes on Dorothy’s feet—
which was simply because the slippers were sealed
to her person—
to her person—
to every single disk of her spine—
like some exquisite
kissed curse
of God
for
this life
to exist
elsewhere
inside an arithmetic of airs,
kissed curse
of God
for
this life
to exist
elsewhere
inside an arithmetic of airs,
& the heart has its reasons
whereof reason knows nothing.
whereof reason knows nothing.
& it all matters
until it doesn’t
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