Regarding subversion
The words are like so many dried bones
Ossified. Dust collects on them
Laid out in their piles in ossuaries
I read briefly a few words, a few lines
And feel myself begin to dry out too
As if the dehydration is contagious
Simply by casting an eye in consideration
Words without meaning or relevance
Seem to threaten to invade my thoughts
I think of Flaubert and his dread of stupidity
Words that were viewed with some importance
Apparently by a particular favoured circle
Concerning kitchen sink dramas or the view
Or the intricacies of a morose sex life
Or the guilt of solitary masturbation
Or the endlessness of the doldrums
Of the middleclass way of life
The writers speak for a narrow few
Of endless shame, of existential threat
But hold nevertheless a stranglehold
On who will be treated seriously
There lies the trick do not be serious
Do not write about spleen or phlegm
Or write with any kind of reality
Or challenge those who helplessly write
But have nothing to say
About nothing in particular.
Subversion is needed no demanded
To bring the ossuaries down.
RAC
