Stephen Mead /Assassinations/


I’m not totally unconscious.
I know that, & that
The something awful has happened,
The too-often inevitable, the one of
Love’s worst fears.
I’m not quite afraid though of course
The shock system has taken over,
The rush of dopamine, all that
Science stuff—–
& yet some senses are lingering
Certain neurons, the nerves
Tangential tips….
From this point I mostly hear, hear
The picture, winds of murmurs at first
A roar, a from of jostling
Becoming a car, a platform, stair-like,
Now a flat conveyer lowered
As I rise—–I am rising, aren’t I—–
But in the deep, mainly spirit, cradled
Supine, my head on some lap, the tender
Feathers of fingers sweeping  (hold)
Beseeching   (on)   nearly or
Suggesting   (ok)   it’ll   (let go)
Be alright…
I know that voice, now mainly a
Whisper, nearest    dear
There’s such a flood   I’m above
Tunneling   like waves   stars over
   How dark   the boat’s glass hull
Remembering   entirely   finding
     Almost there   (light)   every
Summer on the river   (light)  now
(light)   I am embarked

A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial.  In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place:  Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead

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