Saturday, September 23, 2006

Tiffany Lamp Gone Bad

Tiffany Lamp Gone Bad

Tiffany Lamp Gone Bad (2001)

May West liked good salmon.
Her bedroom had dark panelling

and lava lamps. Over her tables hung
racks of critics behind the bar

where bad service is largely blamed
on Texas. Her rental limo

was toothless and made me think of
camp. Such dim jerky tastes

survivalist or maybe all the songs
about trendy green plots gas up

through hanging smoke. Her hip
inquisitor makes a great square

room addition. I hear her voice
calling me claw-footed.

Her old man gives off a soft glow
low and sexless. Victorian.

Well cut by Jack like shards
of sour cream on a white plate.


This is a "Google" poem -- a found text pieced together by search hit syntax snatches from a Google search of the phrase tiffany lamp gone bad.


Anonymous said...

Sven Nykvist, 1922-2006

Silver nitrate leaves a passing
scythe: the knight's quest spins,
rebooting light pixilation,

as if a dream of faith replaced the guilt
of some old man about to receive
an award too serious for love.

Resistance to death floods the screen
with blood red warmth thrashing
against flash, perishable flesh

siblings refuse to consecrate
to unreliable memory, flickers
whose immolation escapes emulsion.

Or is it emulation, that time and chance
snatch for brief admiration such
ghosts before an audience of the dead?

The Mae West saved many a marine
even before Salvador Dali turned
her lips into a sofa.

[Disposable Poem September 25, 2006]

Sine.Qua.Non said...

I love the Exquisite Corpse-likeness of these. Good job to both of you.

Exquisite Corpse

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