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blacknessonseapoet

Poem No 48

POEM TITLE Am I In The Lobster Pot


POEM

Am I In The Lobster Pot


So I’m standing in Tate Modern looking at

Salvador Dali’s Lobster Phone and this guy

behind me takes in a deep breath through his

Nostrils, leans forward and whispers to me,

‘This really is indicative of the genre’


BOOM!


And I’m like, ‘you think you can stand behind me

with your fancy talk, trying to take a hold of

my thoughts, are you out of your tiny mind?

do you think you can just appear to

my consciousness like you own the place?


Face-to-face with the Lobster Phone and

R-I-N-G! R-I-N-G!

snapping claws and clockwork legs in my hand

voices crackling down the wire like scratched

vinyl records and I don’t know if this

is real – really happening ‘cause my

perception is breaking-up, it’s drifting

there’s a shift in my awareness like I can

see without light, thousands of black sparks

in black daylight, thousands of me standing

side-by-side inside an hour glass, twenty

metres tall and one by one like dominoes

I fall onto the sand, crashing like waves – liquid

and seeping further into oblivion

my voice is coloured red and deepening

in tones which set me free from form, my

sensations are in chaos – heaps of senses, no clarity

polarity extinct, reality unknown.

am I in The Lobster Pot?

am I the Lobster Phone?

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