Huuklyeand Cinquor on the MO of Underground Poets

Surreptitiously 

Erase each step, better 

Still, don’t move at all. 

Moderator’s comment: The Apotheosis of the Absurd? At first glance, it might appear so to readers unfamiliar with Cinquor’s modus operandi and who might be thinking he’s being a bit facetious here; on the contrary, if we dig a bit deeper, we’ll see he’s earnestly but very carefully exploring new levels of meaning vis-à-vis the creative urge underlying the so-called school of Underground Poetry. 

Unlike his archaeologically pioneering European antipode Heinrich Schliemann—who, in his great haste to find Ancient Troy, dug right through it without realizing it—Cinquor here posits a daring New World approach in which he proposes that poets who wish to explore ancient subterranean passages leading to Hades, and who wish to do so without the fear of being detected and therefore ratted on by weasels or moles, should do nothing but stand perfectly still—a quintessential move on Cinquor’s part, if you ask me. 

The Weight

Forgive me love but you were so 

Light and transparent, I didn’t feel you

Flying head over heels with me 

Over the deep end. 

The Living Daylights

My, my, all my pretty ones, 

Aren’t we a picture? Oh, 

Night’s a flying the coop, 

The crescent’s stuck 

On the vane, hallelujahs

On high for the lunatic cock 

That shall egg on the chicks 

That shall startle the yolk 

That shall sire the albumen 

Sunny-side up day after day! 

Bauble

A poem given, a gift

To cherish but not 

To gawk over, 

You stumblebum.

The Way of All Things

If these clouds would just keep still 

Long enough, we could go on 

Trying to capture them. 

Sea of Sorrow

Grief never goes 

So deep as 

When it strikes 

Rock bottom. 

Dirty Old Politician

A fish stinks from the head down. 

—Greek proverb 

That’s what they say about us but 

All I know Christ is it ever cold today 

And duty is duty so I’m sitting here 

In the dining room marking off 

The demands of my constituents and the maid 

She’s shivering, bent over the kitchen sink, 

Wearing a tight-fitting outfit 

That I bet makes even 

The blood of the fish 

She’s gutting steaming hot— 

Makes me feel like warming my hands up a bit— 

So I get up close behind her, blow hot 

On that cool nape, massage her shoulders 

And rub up and down her backside 

All for the good of the Motherland but 

Enough’s enough my friends I kid you not 

It’s time we get this fishy business over with 

So she can get down to giving me all 
The no-nonsense loving I lack.