The Cleave Poetry Webzine [ISSN: 1758-9223]

How can it be that the gas chamber door opens inwards? by Steve Parker

In submission on February 27, 2009 at 8:56 pm

How can it be that the gas chamber door opens inwards?

(to David Irving)

the occasion is Smoking Mirror, an exhibition–Flarf
to execrate the despicable English practice of riding to hound
–W.S. Burroughs
he’s asking in the wrong colour!
–Seance Recording (anon)

what it is to outselect the egregious shadow assemblage
of flickers the flickering voice half-memory a gestalt
of fireflies & rattle of redacted love of the Ramp
of that confluence of whispers gargled up in evoking
of the noisy spirit beyond the machinery of
blue saturates tested for at Birkenau Auschwitz
by weight of its own inertia so to assail a weakness
prying alone alone with the  conviction with such fervour thereby mining
with the fixation of a boy digging out his first living spine
that such determination sapping away a bulwark artfully
might who might just bring the walls coming down with fumbling
with the flagship at the blowing thrice O thrice of the trebuchet
trumpet trumpet and canary glossolalia there look listen with jerks  & squawks of
trumpet that thou art in thy posture & mild hooting hubris
thy resolve to be other but always in pursuit and hot sneer
of what is truly as the fall of  clouds cry now in deadly blue
& otherwise spirited from your holes of deadness flushed
for the shoving your redcoat tripes in those faces of deluded boys


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