2010 Poetry Challenge

National Poetry Month



Dana Rowe

Subversive Carousel

it is about sensation . . .
all, all about sensation.
even the brain;
intense thought manufactures
something like tactile sensation.
a good bowl of dope imitates
a light, firm brain massage,
and, of course, sex
is what a rocket (were it sensate)
would feel.
small wonder humanity has
overpopulated the planet.

dreams distort and bastardize;
super-ego denying the id
its intent is to ignite
every synapse in the body
in simultaneity:
unholy apocalyptic outpouring.

the tactile is favored
acceleration preferred;
free-fall of reckless flight
on a fast two-wheeler,
trying to shake you
like an unbroken bronco
while you cling to the handlebars
and twist that throttle tighter,
grinning into that slipstream which
chills your teeth.

small wonder, with such
love of chaos
the species still
romances the insanity of warfare,
cannonades of howitzers
splendidly reproduced
through sound systems
in massive amphitheatre
rock concerts
(thank you Tchaikovsky
for the 4th of July!)
would that we could
live forever
in the sonic nave
of a full concert Wurlitzer,
blasting Sousa maches
like a subversive carousel . . .

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