Poetry by Logan Wei

Poetry by Logan Wei

Poetry By Logan Wei

Stainless Kimchi Or Knotted Mind Correctional

I named here Kimchi because that’s what I see

When the initials of road-stripe

Yellow glimpse back at me from the backs

Of the unyielding overcoats of

KMCI which is a real upstart

Tetragrammaton if you ask me & how many wearers has

The average one had is a mad guess but I digress.

CI means fence & yes Kimchi has a fence

Or more exactly a fence

Has Kimchi. A fence has

Onehalfmillion Machiavellian stilettos in

Lifeless double helices & screaming

Electrons in taut rows unite

To make the immaculate sight

Stainless. Stainless

Because it must rebuff the natural perpetrations

Of natural rust & must pierce fend

& ward forevermore. Stainless whereas

The fence is the semiotics & the sign

Perforce must semper shine must

Gleam must reflect indolent &

Keen & reflect like the gaze Yeats

Beheld in the sloucher

(Blank & pitiless) as the sun

Makes so many arcs of self on the edged ribs.

Stare I now at the fence the symbol the diadem

Squint I at the bright thing Kimchi wears with such aplomb.

My feet process the land

My skin the tenuous wind &

I’m through cursing you

As scintillating inanimacy. I can

Get over you oh you are not that

Brute of layers I once kenned. No

 

You are a river of shapes & the bizarro architectonics

Of function & a vivid little bleb on the acres

& none of us are perfection anyway.

I’ll bid you a riddance

In a dwindle of months & I guess now

I’ll just sough how

In a way you

Are artistry you

Are beauteous you too

Beam with your teeth you

Love as I do the sun & I hope today your

Christmas has been merry & when

I’m out when I’m done when I’m free

To pee as I need to eat frequent cheese or

Economical potstickers when

My socks fit when

I have a couch on which to sit when

Blue shirts are just shirts of blue

Well I will remember you

& how you twinkle & how

Through your hollows I watched

Champagne bottle bodied turkeys bob &

Brave brave deer dark of eye.

 

 

Porcelain Wind-Chime

Happened at the jagged slinky top of the matter, and Jesus, it was all so casual, sudden and muffled. Something factual no rumpus. I could bullet off any spree of becauses concerning why he may have gone so low, but it’s not much use, not the place for trying lucky guesses. Simply slid out of the low-gliding body. Down from the shabby notch turkeys commit in their brief, rare flights. They in their versichrome balaclavas kept on without. He jerked abrupt against the razored arc, wing and four-toed foot, arresting pronto into an upside-down list and did not fiddle, did not salute me in my upthrust tower and blue shirt, did not budge to greet the inmate who dispatched a look to the sneezy little pop. Just hung full stop and frank, like one already most adjusted to mortality. Extinguished Chinese lantern strung to the crest of the glittering fence. He was such a plump modality, then, but it’s been two weeks and three storms since. His flesh and pluck soon left him and, well, he couldn’t stain the stainlessness. So all that’s left at his pewter-bright scaffold, his big opera of metal, are three willful bones and a feather. And I wonder whether, abandoning my lifted post and stepping up to him before gravity wins the final round, holding my breath, I could hear his wind song.

 

 

Big Clean Windows

Yes okay but last night

Out your big clean windows

Glory the sky had a scrum with the earth

The air was bursting

Levying the maculate stuff

Marl peat turf salt soil dirt

The whole rancid splendor

Soaked plants loosing their twigs and leaves

Such abnormal shrapnel

The small post dropped the box again

Detonations shook the tenements

But the lush sound was worth the service dream

And the anthills were madhouses

Utmost madhouses just imagine

Drowning in a crowded tunnel

But now the sun’s up

Out your big clean windows

Wagging worms unload scrolls of goop

Making the asphalt glitter

In the bright bright air

Which is still thick like wino breath

The morning after a heady one

And can’t you see

The fanatical ants rebuilding

The middling trees discurling their buds

Just now the same way we reached

So ardent into the world

When first we were born

And right now that same roomy world

Is so wonderful and cruddy

And the petals look like candy

Look like candy that’s so goshdamned lovely

Out your big clean windows

 

And what I Kiddo want to know is why

Is it forgetting how to brush my teeth

The progressing salad of my diction

My imagination’s limbic screaming

Or did you forget your small promises

So now like a whiling clock I watch

The world only out your big clean windows

Inescapably scaling time because

You forgot how we chose the chair the one

With the good wheels

 


Logan and spouse live in the upper Midwest with their hypertensive quadruped. He has worked with patients, students and the homeless. Logan writes, bakes, and bikes as solacing and natural means of seeking matrimony between the two divaricating parties of reality and experience. Logan's poetry has appeared in Pedestal Magazine.

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