top of page

Metathingal Poem

April 30, 2009

by The Forum
Metathingal Poem

In thinking about Frank O’Hara Why would he push me so, telling me to scribble as if at gun-point, or at knife-edge, or at razor’s blade?

Because such hurry and concern about Coca-cola bottles and where to go shallows the unfathomable.

Reducing visions of afric zerba races to metro tokens.

Now, now, no, no please don’t get me wrong: I too know what the token tokens and what a Coke bottle can bottle up, but please, don’t push me so

This world would already so hurry me along, like Time the Usher, tyrannically insisting I take my seat.

What is this intimate yell, as if experience were the only natural thing and Metaphysics just after the natural thing, not conceding a possible thing of things or the Thing of things or perhaps the natural thing in itself or before it, like a prefix to its sensuousness.

But he could not be troubled with such a thing: the thing, the thing of things that troubles me.

bottom of page