The Many Moods of Mr Mojo

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[Maybe also an ode to the Trickster, as muse, the so-called unconscious. Photo I took in a Melbourne city lane six years ago. Enjoy.]

The Many Moods of Mr Mojo

I’m easy to lose. You
don’t find me, I find you.
I’m the darkness you’re in
when you switch on the light.

I’m absent when you’re
full of yourself.
Sometimes I find you
absent so I sit at your hole
till it rains & your pond fills
with images, lines, frogs,
a cadence birthing a thought
that sets in train the rhythmic
rails of a life or poem.

I like sitting backwards
on donkeys, crosier in hand,
plodding the maze at Chartres
or flipping burgers, mouth
cornered by a ciggie, down
on the ocean’s cluttered floor.

You might catch me at the corner
of 34th and Vine with my
spray can or little bottle
of Love Potion No. 9,
but I wouldn’t bank on it.

I dislike bright light
& its uptight apostles
of either/or nail-gunning
you down on their cocksure
crucifixes at least
till my night’s welcome
dream waves whittle them
into kindling & I
can start new fires
of desire pulling
forward the wheeling
universe another inch
towards its end & origin.

The gods hate me.

Slip your tongue,
& I am there. Stumble,
doodle, daydream,
& I am there.

I shine in every pair
of mismatched socks
useless lottery ticket
crushed first draft

that delirious moment
before you, bungee-free,
leap to die down deep
into life’s lovely ravines.

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~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on June 19, 2016.

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