Voice Within the Void
Poems of Homo supinus

Paperback: 57 pp.
Published: 2000

Price: $14.95

BUY THE BOOK from Time Being Books (the publisher) or Amazon.com

 


 

This volume of seventeen poems introduces us to a new species, a devolved offshoot of man, bearing apocalyptic scars from Auschwitz and Hiroshima. Mired in hallucinations, Homo supinus, a deformed, androgynous creature who rarely leaves his bed, is unequipped to deal with any reality other than that of his immediate physical requirements. He is the ignoble savage in all of us, a demon-ridden creature who forces us to reevaluate ourselves in light of his degradation.

 


 

 


 

Homo supinus Curates His Own Collection

Without black magic, wizardry,
Without kismet, serendipity, coincidence, luck,
Without providential acts of God,
Without the intervention of a deus ex machina,
Unorchestrated and of their own volition,
The abstract-expressionist paintings
You've accumulated over your five decades,
Cherishing each one as a son, a daughter,
A wife you might have had in another lifetime
(Or yet may if you survive your psyche's blight) . . .
The paintings returned to the sacred places on your walls,
Sometime between dusk and dawn,
Paintings that, just weeks ago,
Under equally enigmatic circumstances,
Vanished, dematerialized, escaped your apartment,
While you suffered another dark night of your desoulment.

What strange occurrences are astir!
You can't come to terms with your termination,
Being fired from your position
As curator of the abstract pictures,
Can't fathom the irreversibility of your condition
As slave rather than master of the paintings,
Each a fractured, distorted self-portrait,
Accurate to the smallest drip of casein and latex,
The last hen scratch and crosshatching,
Each a chaotic splash of autobiography
Depicting the essence of your dissociated spirit.
Oh, how you've cherished your creations,
Taken such pride in knowing you've given them breath,
Only to have had them mutiny so mercilessly,
Threaten to bolt permanently, leaving you alone,
Or murder you in your sleep.

 

 

 

 
   
Site contents Copyright © 2017, Louis Daniel Brodsky
Visit Louis Daniel Brodsky on Facebook!