Found Object
I sat in your seat, scanned your desk,
Picked up a picture of your child,
Thumbed through out there beat
Cases of sound you played too loudly
For dumbfounded classes, spellbound,
Held empty cans the cruellest were quick to corrupt
Into your muddled moulded immortality,
Saw fleshed out tones on magazine covers, ready
Made for cut ups and juxtapositions.
Then there was dust too
Thin to cover it all, but kindly
Clinging to the skin; I thought
About you coolly
Sat there as creative chaos spilled, struggled
And spiralled across desks and
As you joked on Jack the Dripper.
I thought how the melodrama of it all
Like a drowning girl, reclined
On your stained palette
As they rendered you a cause celebre.
And in that empty room ephemera
Considered how close I came to find marks
To collaborate á la Man et Miro
On your cadavre exquis (where oozes
Snake to rope) or to deconstructing
Your deathless exodus like an ouroboric
Dragon imprisoned and impressing itself
Through a zoopraxiscope.
