| LOUIS PIRRO |
| the D A G O S P H E R E o t h e r p o e m s |
| & |
| 1 9 9 7 - 2 0 0 1 |
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| (c) copyright Louis Pirro, 1997 - 2001 |
| ( page 3 ) |
| DAYDREAM My father fainted in the red galley kitchen. My mother, on seeing this, promptly passed out too... there they lie, heaped together, in the afternoon... I see it still, as stark as any old Greek play. |
| BEFORE RAPPORT We strive to make emptiness value-added and advance clarity empty yet radient to the next level like an old TV so dusty we never knew it was color these abscences haunt us regretfully so beware van gogh's whore stooped in corners of crazed hearts atop mountains and rarified environs stumbling & flirting with insanity inside the brave room we leave open for it all to happen |
| THE DIONYSIS PROBE the Myths are aged and covered with a baroque shroud & while they were sleeping Or dead It came Slashing Cutting wine-red innards Spilling in the dark |
| LIKE FIELDS IN WINTER Even Jesus wasn't accepted in Galilee. Though he didn't use a Visa... Citibank credit is my alms now- while the Saints die of cancer... 400 years ago in a monestary, I'd be a doctor of the Church... Or I'd take up painting. Today, I'm marginalized & handicapped... Labeled the misfit & outsider. Personal development & Self actualization- this is what the world truly despises... though you wouldn't know it by the way they encourage it with empty gestures and demands of Proof -Or the words of God sown to empty pews like fields in winter. |
| STRANGER Though 35, I'm perennially adolescent- a fixated, troubled teen. I like Star Wars... I paint houses... I don't own a thing. With no car I must walk everywhere, stumbling, looking young and irresponsible, like a stranger in the streets... & even in my own body. |
| THE SUBURBAN HERMIT No trauma put me here- it was voluntary- but I am a hermit at heart and it is harder to be that today- trying to find your place in the world- outside of it all. The deserts have become too expensive- so I'm in the suburbs now- in hiding, in Idaho, right under your nose- in disguise. My hair is short- I appear to fit in as a student, or artist, or something in between... But I'm here nevertheless, mocking the world -which no longer needs me- from the inside now. |
| ? IN THE DIRTY MIRROR is God a flake because he's put me in charge in a world full of holy relics with the mirror of men being art and religion created in his reflection with a bright light behind so we become maybe Shinto or at the very least- Narcissus in lieu of anything else |
| THE DEAD STAG It may be every man's fate to be behind the times to be the buffoon or the oaf that dies alone like the dead stag who without sharp horns finds they are long enough still to tangle him in the woods. |
