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| "The Grey Thinker" © 2016 David Prashker |
I wrestled hard for many years
I cried into my pillow night after so many nights
that at last I perfected crying as an art-form
and my voice left its stain upon the silence
I went down on my knees
unsure whether to pray or beg or grovel
I found myself doubled over
but could not tell the laughter from the pain
I lingered in numerous bars and cafés
warming the backs of innumerable stone benches
I skimmed the scant cream
salivating copiously
dribbling
I compiled the n-dimensional novel
I rewrote Don Quixote for the twentieth century
I devoted endless years of travelling
to forgetting everything I had learned with my head
I composed a thesis on the problem of originality
borrowing phrase by phrase from other works
yet still managed to produce something
uniquely original
I rewrote History to suit my own interests
I developed propaganda as an existential art-form
I became a novice in Shangri-La
I held the sand suspended in the hourglass
for a full fifty-seven minutes
I headed for the cemetery
and listened to the conversations of those youths
who rape the corpses of beautiful women
I constructed the Tower of Babel
then dismantled it
preferring the confusion
I repented my error of judging my fellow-men
I built a skeleton
adding parts to it
naming them individually:
this the broken heart
this the flaccid penis
this the befuddled brain
I disproved the ultimate paradox
I almost achieved the Immaculate Failure
I managed to go on compiling lists
You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/
I cried into my pillow night after so many nights
that at last I perfected crying as an art-form
and my voice left its stain upon the silence
I went down on my knees
unsure whether to pray or beg or grovel
I found myself doubled over
but could not tell the laughter from the pain
I lingered in numerous bars and cafés
warming the backs of innumerable stone benches
I skimmed the scant cream
salivating copiously
dribbling
I compiled the n-dimensional novel
I rewrote Don Quixote for the twentieth century
I devoted endless years of travelling
to forgetting everything I had learned with my head
I composed a thesis on the problem of originality
borrowing phrase by phrase from other works
yet still managed to produce something
uniquely original
I rewrote History to suit my own interests
I developed propaganda as an existential art-form
I became a novice in Shangri-La
I held the sand suspended in the hourglass
for a full fifty-seven minutes
I headed for the cemetery
and listened to the conversations of those youths
who rape the corpses of beautiful women
I constructed the Tower of Babel
then dismantled it
preferring the confusion
I repented my error of judging my fellow-men
I built a skeleton
adding parts to it
naming them individually:
this the broken heart
this the flaccid penis
this the befuddled brain
I disproved the ultimate paradox
I almost achieved the Immaculate Failure
I managed to go on compiling lists
You can find David Prashker at:
http://theargamanpress.com/
http://davidprashker.com/
http://davidprashker.net/
https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress
http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com
http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/
http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/
http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/
Copyright © 2016 David Prashker
All rights reserved
The Argaman Press
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