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King of Kings - a Coronavirus sequence by Michael O'Brien & Johannes S. H. Bjerg

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  • King of Kings - a Coronavirus sequence by Michael O'Brien & Johannes S. H. Bjerg



    - King of Kings -


    king of kings

    covering the island

    a wave of dust




    taking cover you dive

    into a tin of sardines




    we lose the key

    and a prisoner




    elegy

    the white girls go:

    co-ro-na-na-nah




    looking left and right

    gregory pockets the pencil




    what is it? a congress of feet?

    a flock? a murder?




    the raven

    spits

    and then spits




    all veins tuned

    to hum

    in D-major




    catching your breath

    a bum note




    this fear when youths

    escape their jars




    his underwear

    disappears

    into her dna




    in the shrimp diaspora

    knitting is only

    for remembering




    goosegrass

    you quarantine

    their heart




    a fortnight later

    you hear the chairs speak




    ratling with sobriety

    your chained cough




    it’s never just one

    needle in the moth

    it’s a thousand and one




    sudden death

    the loneliness

    of hayricks




    your belly button elastics

    breaks and all’s dark




    full of cheap alcohol

    the white girl’s scar




    goat shaped pill

    Morpheus suggests a game

    of musical chairs




    taking form

    you put your right leg

    into a new nothing




    Morning is a language

    hiding in the shadows




    sweeping the ants away

    your brush with dread




    not a tango

    but a struggle with furniture

    sticking to your clothes




    his hips

    remembering itself

    the sun




    during power-cuts

    eels sleep in your elbow




    funny you say

    becoming red ale




    afraid of her own feet

    and pulse she builds

    a castle of cake




    limed fingers

    baking bread

    her blood work




    ‘it’s the yeast’ she shouts

    from her horse of bubbles




    the final boy

    sowing a circle




    needle by needle

    the path grows




    in giallo stills

    falling through dreams

    his soap death




    oh,

    you’re not a planet

    any more?




    asteroid belt

    the carriage falls silent




    a plague mask full

    of dandelion fluff




    clear sky

    you trip over a bottle

    of hand sanitiser




    counting unicorns

    you polish your

    jellyfish glasses




    sinking knee deep

    finding its italian

    the birch




    finger to finger trans

    mitting galaxies n flesh




    gravitational collapse

    the horse slows down




    from the moth sacrifice

    a new horizon

    full of ships




    leaving your heart

    in the aisle

    next to the shampoo




    an open window in the dog

    that carries the clouds




    covered with hair

    your ears




    in the table asana

    you long for the weight

    of cups and ashtrays




    stained walnut

    his breath cursed

    with loyalty




    not even parhelions

    at the end of your tunnel vision




    22° halo

    we turn the news off




    she emerges from sleeping

    pixels as a body

    of miasma




    screen glow

    becoming an armada

    the premature birth




    the first step taken

    on a lawn of maggots




    letting her go

    the freedom of bell jars




    now empty

    the room sweats

    blood




    visions of christ

    just in case

    he buys more toilet paper




    Via Dolorosa from your chair

    to the supermarket




    retracing footsteps

    from the front door




    Captain Moonbeam

    inspects a fly’s feet

    consulting I-Ching




    chasing a deer

    dividing the country

    we raise a flag




    stretching time we sit

    by an autistic ocean




    it’s only saltwater

    you say




    opening the big book

    of Mustard Seeds the morning

    star breaks




    field notes

    he rewrites

    his suicide




    those half finished birds

    sing only in consonants




    stuttering the wind

    and impending illness




    just enough hearing left

    to house

    a blue whale




    stoned on fat

    he licks the neighbour’s

    door handle




    a big bang of spiders

    etched on her forehead




    farming boils

    he longs for the plague




    rain of needles

    your boat is a compass

    in free fall




    on ‘r’ less birds

    spinning around

    your spit




    ‘not tea leaves, but baked beans’

    she offers to read my future




    moving into aries

    the virus




    Major Lom drops his semen

    on a white mountain’s

    centering stone




    fertility rights

    the arrival of our saviour

    on city balconies




    after the fourth week

    cracks appear in the coffee




    lunar cycles

    for the raspberry




    chipping away at a cell membrane

    just to let loose

    a destructive language




    gap year

    he spends his time

    talking to phlegm




    parking the bike

    at the far end of the wind




    first the rats

    and then his hairline




    the spell for creating bread

    now creates stones

    and flounders




    flattened by anxiety

    he changes the channel

    and his shirt




    where Morse should've been

    a chimpanzee eating ants




    after the stone age

    we pick up soup




    press it hard enough

    and the fig

    becomes electric




    cold this night

    your sneeze becoming

    carbon neutral




    the detective’s vertigo

    made worse by starlings




    closing thought:

    jimmy stewart saying crow



    tidens-soergmodige-myg.jpg



  • #2
    Great interweave of psyches! I have enjoyed the firing of synapses all over the place.

    Comment


    • jshb
      jshb commented
      Editing a comment
      yes, it was like that. Simply writing under the impressions of the rolling pandemic and the bombardment of news ... sad news, scary news. A relief, as Michael said, from the madness.

  • #3
    A great collaboration! You both surpassed yourselves - bravo.

    Comment


    • jshb
      jshb commented
      Editing a comment
      thanks a million, Clayton. Great fun and great ping-pong :-) and very satisfying too

  • #4
    Whoa! Nice work guys.
    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

    Comment


    • jshb
      jshb commented
      Editing a comment
      thanks, Clayton. Great fun!

  • #5
    Thanks a million for commenting everyone. It was one of my new year resolutions to collaborate a lot more this year. I had no idea how amazing the process of working with you all would be. But it has been more than amazing and I look forward to all our further collaborations. Thanks for everything - it really means a lot.
    https://underneaththebloominglaburnu...m/p/books.html

    Comment


    • #6
      Exactly what I needed! Great job!!!

      Comment


      • #7
        fantastic read!

        Comment


        • #8
          I'm clapping!
          My website is at www.poeticinspire.com

          Comment


          • #9
            This is really something. Although it no doubt took some crafting, this feels like a frenzied stream of consciousness - only the thoughts and reactions are from two minds!

            Probably because it's Holy Week, these verses stand out...


            visions of christ

            just in case

            he buys more toilet paper




            Via Dolorosa from your chair

            to the supermarket











            Comment


            • #10
              thanks, Marion. We sorta just wrote to our hearts' delight :-)

              Comment


              • #11
                That’s the best way, Johannes—sounds like fun!

                Comment

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