<< LRL 7
Gods Drop Stone on Car...
by Lewis Gesner

One dot on the water is the magic boat
from how far on the line
Have the stranger knocked on every door to enter in
to follow one escape and onward to the next
to find what outward thing external stopping
to the engine with a gear to go and for nothing idle
makes of it demands put on the way a suit is worn...
so shocked the viewer seeing such a dot
and so at sea
would leaning back in wonder, turn to ask
an offshore viewer
how this was...
how to always hide, the greatest of the secrets one could house
that nothing stops there is nothing on which repose can fall
who can follow, who can walk the more, and pace when trapped, and wait
but not at rest, but waiting, spinning, turning, grinding...
to be loosened in this way and put adrift
into the void
either waters or the heat two poisons
or if time allow some other ways will cross the path,
in the sea, with space to pace but back then forth, to recollect becomes
the walk
of in the broad expanse
and lost in it, with everything to walk...
as one wonders while in any of these
where in fact, am I
if not
in life...
than what...
The crackle of the powder
and the street awash with
paper bits of red in rain,
its Sundays or its Thursdays
and the local gods
request observation
as the effigies are
shouldered through the road
and engines of the city
power down behind
procession and
the traffic of the feet
that force the way
through modern days
win out, once, or, twice
the ground has opened
as then...
gods might linger
longer in the mind,
a street the village
when broken through
a mountain wall
for passage
and the sliding stone had buried
others, and they said
it woke inside the mountain
and advance of industry
should fall back for a time,
that by the grace of others
we should live
the old ones hold their court
in closet temple
and in spreading fields of brick
and tile,
and we should make our way
both lightly
and, with knowing,
we have never tread
the world alone.
In halved the vivisected wander like this, in their trance of fear and honour
as regard, they tremble to offend the smallest and the weakest having might
expanded in the passing, humbled dowager grows out the rippled spine
in their fixed expressions looking on, their eyes are carved as closed
and cut from the darker wood, they show themselves solid opaque
though by the forcing labored hand the shaking merest form
in penetrate with the boring worm are animated by the carriers
who acting pole bearers as it sits is sitting upright in its tasseled throne
would jostle and then bounce them knowing they have nothing of their own
imbue the wooden head dressed down in flowing robe and wondered at the body
listed down below, descended from the root they look into, there is no left
remaining, is it stopped below the neck where cloth resumes in velvet silk and cotton color...
The oddity museum
the nut collection
collapsed circus,
stuffed, when they died, decorate
the building which is an old wooden
grange hall
the animals, gorilla (low land)
anaconda, forty feet long, and dodo bird,
now extinct, and what the card beside it said is
an authentic Egyptian mummy
a mask and some pillows wrapped in dirty strips of linen,
two wooden Indians, side by side between two rooms,
painted cows outside, an elephant made of plaster and fiberglass
beside the road, in front,
the second floor, are nuts around the world, in
dusty glass and wood display
and for sale, candy and novelty
two fun house mirrors from the carnival
that stretch and squash
illusion and wonder and façade of spectacle which hides nothing
a mystical a place one time long before
the pilgrimage to see
the golden arches oscillating numbers
from once retreat
restores the visit once
again a year to pass to rely on there
resumed plus thirty years
had gained grotesque a standing
taxidermy failed into piles of leak
of sawdust in each case
sawdust, from exotic land
from ass and mouth the beast
a fat man, offering (something) asthmatic cough...
in a handkerchief,
explains, the rare collection that was sold
returned he bought them back and
one by one restored
the wandering show
for these odd thirty years
and, even the gorilla was
back in its place-, though worse -...
but, rememory was
the thing that missed the mark
and not the thing
its patina diminished
extravagance itself worn...
Far again, the first an emblem toilet seat black paint and black paint toilet walls
a bar on that ex-patriot strip, they called the "Piss Hole" and a TV and a stack
of VHS of slasher movies back to back all night bar
and expats bitch at me because they see me white complain they said
the whores are ten dollars worth they think, but he should pay them two
he says, and this is one place lost its charm he says, and I am looking to away,
what hell I stepped into now, the toilet's black
one night wanders is enough, and next to Bandung for
work one day..
and, Yogya next, and lost at 4 A.M. a stranger asks if I am waiting
and, I am given a meal and comforts at an old Dutch house, just as the mosques
begin their morning calling
through the city one then one more then another than a chorus like I heard before from fractured speakers
strangely gentle
to a house, it was the black house as, it all of black, from every room inside and out, and roof and sidewalk, and, had only saw it other once, in Amsterdam, a black building, with a yellow sign giant banana
on the outside strip club but, the deepest black paint, was the Church of Satan once before -...
in the morning hours, before the mosques, the cats are running on the rooftops all in heat, and moaning,
populations unattended cats that breeding wild is like some crazy bird calls contest in that night, and then the mosques -... before daylight ... in Yogya in the jungle finally in the peaceful flowing heat
heavens to compress by early afternoon the day is done and flee the man and ox from patties to the thatched retreating from the sun ...in the ravaged place, a year before earthquake, now lingers rubble, eight or nine are missed, a small village, everybody knew, who died -... a gift, to the farm ...
Two sounds the wind compressed insanely from two sets of glands
and flattened hoods and patterns mocking a theatric smile
that fall out unfolding from a canvas sack
the snake farm yard
the dust they land in
he, bare legged jumps but not so pronounced
he has felt them many times
and father felt them too, and father too, in his tradition
back, back,
thinking, same, the spiny fish
generation stabs one two three
but one then two
the cobras strike his sandal -
he, snaps at them with the empty canvas sack
they circle him, and display, as they, face each other ...
and the farmer, sits aside -...
and in behind, a secret, concrete room, a pit as like a well, with covered plywood
pushed aside, erupts the winds all winding sound as tightly coiled as ribbons
moving in the hole, all one, over the other, flesh
and taking them, select
and losing with a machete
six the heads
and catch the blood and venom
in a glass
and with the jungle creeping to me
drink the fire
In the beating day
pounding start for ten hours
and the penetration of timbre
metal brass and cascades, tone overlap
eyelids low mast
how young, they should be let
this work of days
with their pantomime and brightly blue
horses and
wooden swords
 and, gold headdress
until, it happens
eyes roll or take on them a stare
and, you can see the taker
in the pools and when the taker moves
inside the small body and
to show and acting out the tale
somehow, the body keeps control?
And even then the mind in art, it illustrates
first and third the person but what person.
all the day, all the day, the dirt soaked when the buckets to keep from collapse
excess coats the dust and settles it to make a clay bed
throwing, splashing
primordial in the first lost memory, it is
a showing, in the mud, so these mere bodies
warned, should never claim, and illustration of the parent too,
of dominance of the realm of sight and sound, and moving forward
and the jealousies of those gods -...
to dance, to fall into the hole, to rest
to feel it up and move again
to be the witness slowly made to share, to join -...
what masks evil in the world -...
trouble to embark on such this thing
the hinge detaches, starting now
insecure arights footing
as this how the influence
subjugated by suggestive nature
easy to become as during locks had been removed
and THEY will transit in wherever they can go
that is not blocked to THEM.
And to see, no opening for one, but in the throat,
so in the opening the throat, it squeezed it, and it
coughed until
the young coconut medicine
and coughing and tears came but out proportioned until shaken and advised
ignore, ignore -...
and then yet another even not accustomed fell and swooned, and sickened
she took for her fainting opening, that all told outside took
the two the most docile to the spell
lapsed into a new day
in the patties and the mud is dust returned
and, the two remain, unfixed, while all else is the same the day before -.
Where that old captain
lost of confidence
lost of dog that wife that too his boat, because
the sea destroys, so still
he had the rented room
and for his hunting, 308
and lost his mind
against the wall an arch, -
some symmetrical expression in the last, his lost accident
as of the ocean, everything at risk so risk the sea,
survival spread as man oppressed.
Sea captains, as sorely remembered hunting partner
given name of Coffin, eighty-seven
still an eagle eyed with gun,
still as stationary in the wood, mice, run, over legs and feet at
4 A.M. so still and silent there, where paths converge, and as
a Mason with the lambskin apron in a rite
assumed him more mystic with a smile, had passed while parked,
his car one hundred feet from his front door,
where he had laid his hear onto the wheel and blew the horn -.
And, announcing his ascension ...
the young captain, plots and places buried there inside,
he still possessed the rough
association one to one the man the sea,
and seen him, buck knife drawn
straddling the shark that filled the deck
the day at sea that we drew in, it took the three
of us, hand line, gaffed it too, nine feet and Rip as he was called
he jumps on it like rodeo
and plunged to his wrist in it the heart
and soaks the deck in the blood fountain
and three of us deck hand red,
an guts an embryos flying everywhere and cut around the head
and off it comes, and throw it overboard and draws a hoard of sharks that knock it 'round
the way a soccer ball is hit, from end of nose to end of nose and circle
in a spiral as the head sinks fading out from sight, the circle it an follow it
down into the darkness striking with their noses
eyes of severed head are blinking at each strike, and it is biting too, with its mouth...
It is like that, like accident of fate,
and the poor deciding... even that the shark had took the bait -...
there in the art room, my wife is modeling
I wait inside a classroom emptied now, the upright and
the Beethoven bust on top (plastic) and
the black Chinese letters inside red hearts for Valentine's day...
my receptors overloaded still my resident status confirmed
Celine it is a drop in the bucket or pool, for art and literature and life I extend -...
the wash of a lament, and undecidings so defining after in the
retrospective hoping to correct, inside the
retrospective centers of the brain -...
and when we were out in not a rocketship but instead as the adults
the half broke down fishing boat,
bailing hands that re emerging in the wake, the still night
waters now,
so schooling fish and squid
that make the phosphorescent lines below the boat
is a matrix and a grid on which we float,
which I have seen and matched in as wild hallucinations from heat
of green and yellow addled a thousand other times,
but addled dreams, of this.
And when it hit again, the waves above
the boat
and tried to thrust through them nose first
but, returned to drift-
and battered bailing, sitting low on subsequent days,
did be found alternatively or not
I think, opinion devised for openness here
Take it all
Walk away, with it ill advised, in open water,
Any the other removed, take away, conceal
Land locked and ocean blocked civilized and backwashed
Illiterate and primordial
And high speed, rail -.
Illusion of the exercise
planning of the far and invested
of a timing wheel
a granite quarry in a thimble
the Swede's brain in a thimble,
that passed on family passed on
from my missing memories, in a thimble,
the saw mill and the burning boots
to dry on the stove in a thimble,
in a thimble an everything will fit.
The cement plant baked a half a ton
to the undercarriage of the Plymouth,
wet cement that hardens, and it froze up every
tube and pipe complete, a blocked car-.
The red envelope is on the sidewalk
the red envelope, as given on Chinese New Year
you give money to employee or family in it
the red envelope has money in it
it is on the sidewalk
I would to pick it up
my wife, she stops me, let it be
It is an old trick
It has money in it, but it is the dowry
for a dead daughter
while the father lurks nearby and
his bait
who picks it up should marry
his dead unmarried daughter
for, the dowry is the price
for the ghost wedding
so much the drifting, even not so
always in a boat but
even as the daughter passing on
is drifting unattached -.
...to go from scene to scene and passing between stories in a unite one
to where, it is the fear to stop
the fear, to know, one, or the limit of
accepting (some) the barriers
to make evaluate to grow and purge
the block resides in
the insignificance (to know a thing)
what one thing
(what increased number)
evaluating, one odd nesting knows.
(blocks on blocks)
and blocks.
To nothing built with blocks.
While then, there is over all it.
We should hope, if we should placate
or dismiss or maybe they or it or us
the avalanche
the mountain
and, the winding road as gone
and cars beneath it
was it god(s) or
was it while they watched
we might to ask
what kind of gods.


Lewis Gesner is a writer and artist, living in Taiwan.

<< LRL 7