POEM 84

PULSE Poeticians Unite!

Uplink Upanishad Upturned by nocturne Uptown upward spiral staircase panopticon logic,

Shrill decoupage of entourages imbricated integrity,

supplanting the theocratic,

derivation of supple pantomime cast in omicron pi mesons, eloquent soup,

absconded in surrepetitious emulation,

Erudite ensconced in debutante shrill matrix overt ovarian whispering adds volume to hair,

Err on air, in heir of hair happening to hedonistic harbingers of happenstance harpsicord logic,

You draw me into the frame,

framed,

you draw the demons out,

they're killing the rainforest

I don't care anymore,

they won't listen,

and they are in charge,

doom is inevitable with their insane ways.

I am not a person any more,

they took that from me,

I am just,

I am Just,

I am Just a

I am just a remnant,

I am just a remnant of revolutions,

I am just this,

This is Poem 84,

a call for a revolution,

This is poem 84.

...

...

By the way this link http://themaynard.org/Vol9No2/Immaning.php points to the work of Master Poetician Lousie Bak, it points out also that there are other Poets who are Pulse poets, developing this unique art form quite isolated from one another.  I argue this is a poetry of dissociation, and associative narrative aspectual shifting.  Bak's work is an embroidery of nuanced wonder, mine is a sort of highway construction, both a sort of weaving. I argue this is a language at the cusp of utterance and the ineffable, like jazz it's it's own genre, music is just the envelope, it is the words inside the envelope, and with the words of the Pulse poet, the words are like the envelope, but the envelope carries with it atmosphere and aspects of the Unified potential to convey complex emotions, it's a language of the thought process that is in harmony with emotional matricies that convey elements of a whole experience, a mystery distended in revelation, an elemental expression of the heart of the poetic instinct to say just an utterance less than the totality of experiences available to the human potential all in one foul swoop, in one sound, echoing and reverberating in the cosmic oeuvre of our potential connection to the spoken gestation of our concerted interconnection to one another.  THIS IS PULSE.  THIS IS POEM 84, the king of Pulse has spoken, PAY your taxes.  Start revolutions, debt to the infidels! Start your revolutions soon, this is Poem 84.