Sunday, September 13, 2020

Four Poems, by Geoffrey Olsen



3.19


             would I consult the dark
           
            in the form of …

              off the tips of my fingers

      in the soil excavating …

                        the cavern, cavity

      phoneme tongue / fertilizer sunsets

   profuse down tone sounding out

                 moldy wall crumbled, soiling
       
          I’m    come out into
 
    waves where anger focused

       against,
                      
          enveloping in finance
           
     circuit

                       our faces commune in

                     dark other silent rooms

  plot on screen

        dream splits open

    a bourgeois flesh

         at the edge of bleeding

            stitched close



3.19


    anxiety threads first
  
the blue dark

            my room enveloped

    blue depth.

the second part
 
  is immiseration

the third part
  
   is recognizing the

enemies of all beings

                     and the wish to see
   
     in the blue light imbued
  
  a collective moon

  a little glint




3.21



   slept interior

    lonely blue-green

   the trace leaves me

      concrete world

 watch of hands

     virus

     its distance and

   nightmare

       not coercion

   in the purple field

trusting in others

   my bleak garment

wrapped words that tune

    this ocean

       a layer

         of warm




3.22



  have selves submerge in blue

 plangent rising form as song

      where starts

  temper torpor, my translucent

failure, concrete attention

     in the eve of waves

   know a form despair

  know what it is to chase

     up slender stair

  decay

material wealth shadow

     sound in attention to

    thin half-light, ears plugged

   an ocean

    black-purple inscription

   allege spring night trails

 behind me river

            streams intent

          anti human stockpile

            think themselves survival

                  fond for themselves

              a leaving for an eye

    a leaf a boll

                     substance me, tongue

                               pool of my hearing

                        plugged into
                 
                      twilight’s off-
                    
                                                   pitch





Geoffrey Olsen is a poet and cat guardian living in Brooklyn, NY. He is the author of the chapbooks End Notebook and Not of Distends : Address Panicked. Recent poems are published in Prelude Mag, Entropy and Vestiges. He has chapbooks forthcoming from These Signals and above/ground press.

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Four Poems, by Geoffrey Olsen

3.19              would I consult the dark                         in the form of …               off the tips of my finge...