NICK MAYNARD

The Dys…

(the concrete nature of this poem lies entirely in its shape. It sweeps to the right in several waves and then sweeps back to the left. Almost as if a hesitant moving forward and then retreat.)

Frustration

Castration

My mouth is dry -

my palms are wet,

held in a straight-jacket

fighting to get out

I kick and writhe

                        and bite my tongue off

                        to stop the words coming out

                                                or going in...

the jumbled, tumbled pictures of fragmented

                                                            dyslexicons of

                                                                        fractured, fractals

                                                                                                of nouns and conjunctives...

                                                                                    assumptions

                                                                                                that you can do and I

                                                                                                                    can do without.

The gift of a fucked-up mind

            all light and colour –

                                    of a billion connections

                                    each one unique

                                                patterns and possibilities –

                                    the other from another cerebral

                                                                        mother-fucker

                                                                                    brother to brother

The lazy dog fucked the sleeping cat

                                                            tac        act        ...

                                    No matter what –

                                                            I remember it all

                                                            every pictorial –

                                                            every pectoral

                                                            every gesture

                                                            every lie that held me back and broke me –

                                                                                                poked me

                                                                                                bullied me and provoked me                                                                                                       words on a lexicon

                                                                                                virtual

                                                                                                code

                                                                                                de code

                                                                                                encrypted

                                                                                                encoded

                                                                                                DNA

                                                                                                unique to me

                                                                                                scrambled every time

                                                                                                for this to me 

and back again

                                                                                                            lost and found –

                                                                                                            no place like home

                                                                                                                        and away...

                                    A theme tune linked to words I say and see and do....

                                                                                    lots and lots for us to do...

                                                                                    you and me – me and you....

                        And now the words I hated

                                    so eat me so...

                                                I write and let others read –

                                                you are lost - not me                  

                                                I am found...

We try to find the beauty in a single word or phrase 

and it eludes us - or does it allude us? 

Is us the single most beautiful word or phrase we can find? 

Or is single the word we are looking for?

Has it been there all the time?