To a Dead Poet

By | 1 June 2014

Charles Buckmaster 1951-1972

a variation of waiting nothing

and the day
it is darker now

Woodstock. Gruyere. (Willochra)
abolished bastards of the trap
a presence appears like a snare
apparitions are hallucinogenic pulses


the seed of god planted in the earth
but a disturbance….

the true nature of this fear?
brooding in its decayed
momentary time:
an isolation (not limited to poets).

of the WOMB destructive births
have entered.


great voiceless creature
we fled the city, belly
of the white whale filled
crushed grasses, grey buildings

state-wide MELBOURNE–
I visited your house
… the school in Lilydale

couldnt find the broken poet
his aging disciple had stopped writing/
died alone-

… it is through leaving that our lives
begin to take form and enter full flight

writing poems across our skulls we
drink death, a kind of sweet wine.

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