PICKINGS
Poetry from NHI publications
FACTS |
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I work in Fact Reception; We paste on this stuff we get from Feeling, And if it looks good, or in the case of phrases Sounds good, we stick it on the wall; Paint for the visuals, ink for the verbals; Then the Memory lot barge in and tear it down; The Memory mafia pinch most of our stuff; It's no way to run a gallery cum library; it's a madhouse, I can tell you; look at the Reason bunch, in and out with cameras And recorders, sorting out what they call coherent data; A right lot of berks, if you ask me, And neurotic to boot, scrub off our paint and ink. Obsessive Idiots, they beaver at their boring index, which has, So they say, a thin apex called Theory. We don't glance up at it; We have our hands full, what with mad, drunk, slippery, Obstreperous or collapsing facts; and the director's crazy. |
COLIN ROBINSON |
from Quiggins at the Conference ISBN 0 903610 29 9 Next poem Previous poem |
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