Simon smith
PICTURE WINDOW
& all the houseflies have dropped
well like flies
surely a sign
this is the tip towards the end
a husk
with a lot hanging by it
or off of it
the mind whirring out of control
like broken clockwork
the veer from ballistic to balletic to ballast
the lunge trip forward
subject to Baudelaire’s shock tactics
the sun behind standing at the corner
with the poise of a hand
poised over the door handle
exit or entry
the question goes begging
with all the equipoise
butterflies carry throughout their lives
for a taxidermy of past feelings
like stuffed animals
signed off with a ballpoint
my thumb planted firmly over the evidence
there’s to be no exception for others
politician parrot patriot or partisan
no one knows who’s in charge
or to own the answer
like there is one
answer when there are answers
as we gather around another point
in history change pins swop phone numbers
exchange codes switch nations
of what remains
FROM THE PLAINS OF CODEINE
flipped receptors opened synapses
the World is numb aligned next to me
in the coffin
cheek by jowl
functioning zero moral perspective
I can no more operate machinery
than you can write lyric poetry
ranks of emergency vehicles parade the boulevard tonight
in a World where the long term is now the short term
& Life is mostly experienced as pain
& Love as a payday loan
so the answer will always be “no”
like a kid’s earworm
when the crowd’s a rabble
& the constitution designed for the musket ball
drops down another communication black hole
it’s a lottery the reckless belief life will carry on as it always has
where the thinking touches where it fits
& yes that makes it a wrap
the pain connected hot wire to the elbow
& the full dose of soluble aspirin over 24 hours
just won’t do
all my clothes are secondhand at least twice removed
codeine friendly
the Naproxen years flip signification
& reading poetry off of my iPhone is the best place for it
the Angel of History pressed against the double-glazing
intoxicated in the code of codeine
& all the World stopped breathing
so walk out of the hotel
turn left
end up in Spain
the money turning into evidence
where I’ve kept your love as a kind of app
singing the heart inside out
reduced to a lone figure in a restaurant
in a restaurant not a café
where the line break is everything
& it’s the Dead who run the show
SONG: UNDERTOW
pull
lack of control
until
currents encircle
legs
tipped up
wrapped round
winded inside the heart
lived entirely
in the touch
breath turn
folded back
of breath
turn
upset
out in the strand
love the unloved ground
song of the broken
low below low
watermark
the rain pouring
no singular thing
touch with wind
song how to go on
how to move on
the afterlife
with the signal breaking up
& all the houseflies have dropped
well like flies
surely a sign
this is the tip towards the end
a husk
with a lot hanging by it
or off of it
the mind whirring out of control
like broken clockwork
the veer from ballistic to balletic to ballast
the lunge trip forward
subject to Baudelaire’s shock tactics
the sun behind standing at the corner
with the poise of a hand
poised over the door handle
exit or entry
the question goes begging
with all the equipoise
butterflies carry throughout their lives
for a taxidermy of past feelings
like stuffed animals
signed off with a ballpoint
my thumb planted firmly over the evidence
there’s to be no exception for others
politician parrot patriot or partisan
no one knows who’s in charge
or to own the answer
like there is one
answer when there are answers
as we gather around another point
in history change pins swop phone numbers
exchange codes switch nations
of what remains
FROM THE PLAINS OF CODEINE
flipped receptors opened synapses
the World is numb aligned next to me
in the coffin
cheek by jowl
functioning zero moral perspective
I can no more operate machinery
than you can write lyric poetry
ranks of emergency vehicles parade the boulevard tonight
in a World where the long term is now the short term
& Life is mostly experienced as pain
& Love as a payday loan
so the answer will always be “no”
like a kid’s earworm
when the crowd’s a rabble
& the constitution designed for the musket ball
drops down another communication black hole
it’s a lottery the reckless belief life will carry on as it always has
where the thinking touches where it fits
& yes that makes it a wrap
the pain connected hot wire to the elbow
& the full dose of soluble aspirin over 24 hours
just won’t do
all my clothes are secondhand at least twice removed
codeine friendly
the Naproxen years flip signification
& reading poetry off of my iPhone is the best place for it
the Angel of History pressed against the double-glazing
intoxicated in the code of codeine
& all the World stopped breathing
so walk out of the hotel
turn left
end up in Spain
the money turning into evidence
where I’ve kept your love as a kind of app
singing the heart inside out
reduced to a lone figure in a restaurant
in a restaurant not a café
where the line break is everything
& it’s the Dead who run the show
SONG: UNDERTOW
pull
lack of control
until
currents encircle
legs
tipped up
wrapped round
winded inside the heart
lived entirely
in the touch
breath turn
folded back
of breath
turn
upset
out in the strand
love the unloved ground
song of the broken
low below low
watermark
the rain pouring
no singular thing
touch with wind
song how to go on
how to move on
the afterlife
with the signal breaking up
Copyright © Simon Smith 2019
2018 brought three collections of poetry from Simon Smith: Day In, Day Out (Parlor Press), The Books of Catullus (Carcanet) and Some Municipal Love Poems (Muscaliet). The poems in this Molly Bloom are further excerpts from the long sequence ‘Municipal Love Poems’. His third book of poems, Mercury (Salt Publications), was long-listed for the Costa Prize in 2007, and a selected poems, More Flowers Than You Could Possibly Carry, appeared from Shearsman Books in 2016. Simon Smith is reader in creative writing at the University of Kent, was a Hawthornden Writing Fellow in 2009, and a judge of the National Poetry Prize in 2004. From 1991-2007 he worked as a librarian at The Poetry Library in London. his work previously appeared in Molly Bloom 2, 6, 9 and 13.
