Old Poem

This one reminds me of chaotic jazz or "post-rock" in that it is mostly word noise that occasionally breaks into understandable melody only to fall away into noise again ... the noise makes the understandable bit more powerful and even the noise seems to carry with it real (though unpolished) possibility.

By flip up top of radar guns down,
fly up low and down.
meat cut and out of bourbon and flying solo,
fly and fall and flip and gallows swing,
if fifty by twenty-two were to fall again
we would love a break of two fit setters
find us a bird bright from burning sun
scorching birds and falling flies
flicking love again with an evil snail
slow moving and licking earth,
falling and falling down farther,
now in a hole
now a digger . .. will I arise,
for a ground opens up
swallows and falls and loves
cuts and draws and kills
when will this over it again I under it again.
and then my face will smile and crack with widening gaps,
finding another hole in my side
another missing part
I can't know anything and won't decide.
like a miserable bird on the wire,
falling and flying and losing my mind
mid down and fall sowing the seed of life.
over a multitude of yellow words I fade
and peal and no more decals
no more nose, no more eyes
empty hearts dripping solid liquid
hard blood and dust and flying squalls
no quail today, but there is plenty of foul.
what will you have. .. be it dirty chickens
or pigeons or rabbit, hare high and hare low.
ears hearing and dying for a taste,
tongue tasting and dying for a listen,
eyes longing to smell and nose wishing to see,
only the hands are happy with their seeing,
and smelling and hearing. hearing hands will find busy
works to live on
all alone in the dirty ground of nowhere.
falling in and flying out, when I will find a looking
where is my looking,
where is my looking.