Flight of Ideas
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About this ebook
From the dizzying heights of a soaring imagination come 50-plus poems--some old school, some new school, some so far "out there" that you've never seen anything like them and probably never will again. (Check out "The Last Night of the Last Bokey-Bokey on Earth" or "The Day After They Rounded Up Everyone Who Could Love Unconditionally.") This collection includes poems, stoems, prosems, tweetems--whatever it takes to give your mind wings and make it take flight. In medicine, a "flight of ideas" signifies a rush of free-flowing thoughts and speech. It's the perfect title for this dazzling book from award-winning poet and storyteller Robert Jeschonek, a master of the unpredictable in theme, style, and expression--a truly unique voice.
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Flight of Ideas - Robert Jeschonek
THE LAST NIGHT OF THE LAST BOKEY-BOKEY ON EARTH
Hindquarters glowing dim red in the darkness, you perch on the sleeping man's big toe,
Holding on with your barbed black feet, six eyes gaping like pimento-stuffed olives
'round your pink-glowing knot of a head.
You shiver like a violin string in time with his breathing, so excited you can barely control yourself,
Yet melancholy, for this will be the last time your kind merges with humanity,
With a man,
For you are bzzeep zeep you are the last of the Bokey-Bokeys.
Your name meaning savior
Your name meaning conscience
Your name meaning beauty
Your name meaning hope.
As you shinny up his leg, through the forest of his leg-hair,
You buzzwhistle a traditional song, a mating song that's been with your people always,
Something about crawling through gates, oozing up a tunnel
Burrowing into a mound, piercing clay with roots like needles,
Only the gates are teeth, the tunnel's a windpipe,
Bzzeep zeep the mound's a brain.
Once, men begged your kind to visit them in the night, they made burnt offerings and spoke through shamans and priests who knew the chants and dances it took to draw you from hiding. They cheered and shook rattles as you shinnied up sweat-soaked backbones by firelight, buzzwhistling your litany of promises. Sparks of static flickering from your million-fold cilia, wings glittering like fresh-dipped paraffin, pincers clacking front and back as did the pincers of your forebears, all the countless googolplexes of them in all the nonillions of centuries. Gods you were then, your methods unchanged from the first trilobite, first coelacanth, first dinosaur, first rodent. Names unchanged from the grunts of the first amphibian squatting in the mud, buh-kee...buh-kee...Bokey...Bokey...first gods of the creatures of the Earth, bzzeep zeep and now this, and now you.
If he woke, he would fling you across the room or crush you with the flat of his hand,
So pick your steps carefully through the thicket of his belly and chest.
Easy now, pry his lips open and slip past the teeth,
Giving off just enough anesthetic salve from the glands between your toes to numb the tongue and throat.
Once inside, you will make him dream as in days of old,
The bull bowing its head before him,
The eagle carrying him aloft, the sphinx with his features.
This is how all gods bred prophets at one time bzzeep zeep by entering
And entwining with the animal form.
Just because man has forgotten the Bokey-Bokey doesn't mean the Bokey-Bokey
Has forgotten man.
The man chuckles softly in his sleep as you claw your way into his brain,
Swallowing nuggets of salty gray pudding as your sacrament, the host of your host.
By morning, he will be changed beyond recognition inside,
Become pilgrim of an ancient nameless faith, disciple of a god both real and in his head
Who will give to him the greatest gift for one last time, the inspiration
For the leap of intuition and compassion, bzzeep zeep geometric evolution
Fit to change a world as a thrown bucket of paint changes a painting
And you shall curl up and wait in your burrow, Bokey-Bokey,
For the bullet that pierces your hideaway as one always does,
The god-killing bullet that stops the leap forward
And you, the last Bokey-Bokey, squirm and sigh one last time,
Receding like the final whir of summer's last katydid, unseen in the shadows,
A candleflame snuffed by the wind, a god of gods past,
Sinking fast,
Your name meaning barren
Your name meaning conscienceless
Your name meaning unbecoming
Your name meaning hopeless.
WHAT WAS UNDER THE REFRIGERATOR MAGNET STUCK TO THE DEATH RAY GENERATOR
Dear Doctor Stonehenge,
Sorry about scalping you
inadvertently
with my laser vision,
but I couldn’t let you put on your
Thinking Cap
and possibly defeat me.
As for the Death Ray,
why not point it at someone
we all hate the next time?
People would pay you more
to take lives
than save lives
You idiot.
But you didn’t hear that from me.
Now about the baboonapotamus:
Wouldn’t a crocotiger
or piranhahawk
make more sense?
Or a couple of codependent
manic-depressive
passive-aggressives
crossed with vampire bats?
But that’s just my opinion.
Now listen:
We both know I’m a righteous crusader,
Red, white, and blue
from my shades to my jock strap,
but times are changing
and to tell you the truth
the country’s headed more in your direction
than mine.
Plus which,
ever since we broke up,
I’ve been thinking
you have a point,
and maybe if I’d compromised a little,
taken an interest in your work,
like instead of stopping your plan
to hire more illegal immigrants as henchmen,
what if I’d, say,
wiped out the rain forest with my nuclear piss
or carved Satan on Mount Rushmore?
I think we could have had
a different cliffhanger ending,
one without your new sidekick Contempto,
who by the way I’m sorry about killing
in the line of duty
with my hyper-sneeze and gun-shooting powers
in the line of duty.
So anyway,
maybe we can team up sometime,
but only if you get your act together,
and no more lameass weapons
like the Low Self-Esteem Ray
or the Incontinence Flea
and no theme crimes based on nursery rhymes
or silent movies.
And no, for the record,
this has nothing to do with my trying to dominate
the relationship
(which there isn’t one, anyway,
as we both know)
or what happened last November
on the cruise ship you sank
single-handedly.
But let’s not beat a dead horse.
What matters is,
I’ve seen the light of evil
so to speak
and we’re both on the same side at last.
With my brawn
and your brains
(all three of them)
nothing can stop us.
(And just imagine how great the sex would be,
not that there would be any
because of course there’s no
us
and I swear to Hitler and Jack the Ripper
I’m totally only in it for the evil.)
WHISPERIN' JIM
Whisperin’ Jim came by today,