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Saut Situmorang

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Member Since: Before 2003

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tongue in your ear
by Saut Situmorang

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Recent poems by Saut Situmorang
•  Four haiku
•  horn-bill song
•  sleep cicak
•  kinda blue
•  Looking for Charles Bukowski in K Rd
           >> View all 13

there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
where pigeons build their nests
tough enough
to protect
the soft underbelly
made from lace and sinew
hairspray and spit
20 feet above our heads
far away like a boat adrift
like soft tensile wires
plump as an oyster
garlands of feather and bone
navigating by moon and stars
in the hallucinating waters above the hill o death
like Pinocchio
doing kinky things with red tape
for eloquence
on alphabet walls
not greenstone
in a garbage truck
do you read me?

there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
of a house of black windows
where we bury your dirty laundry
so we could say nice things about you
yesterday’s baby
who stopped believing in God
who said, “If God were a drunkard,
I’d have no need to drink!”
come on
there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
where pigeons build their nests
before winter comes
with frosted milk-bottles in the letter box
which my neighbour is carving with a chisel
while saying, “Vinegar was used in B.C. times
as a spermicide - a pessary.
It was sponged on-in,
probably stings a bit!”

there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
where pigeons build their nests
before winter comes
yes, winter will be beautiful this year
with muted television reads
its own lips with an American accent
breathing out long silences
to keep warm
e hoa ma! o friends!
silver bellies are the best eels for drying!
so when the sax player
opens his song
like drinking
we have no choice
we have to follow
the Gringo puppets
to where the pigeons build their nests
when the wind changes
and follows you into the darkness of thoughts
a temple full of snakes
of snake goddess
the pagan goddess of lust
of 13 degrees of blue
the blue of tears, the blue of longing
the jealous blue of green
the blue of the fathoms, the blue of the earth
the blue of love, the blue of mirrors
the blue of nostalgia, the blue of danger
the blue of deceit, the blue of lust
the blue of loss, the blue of death

there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
where the sky becomes more important
where the ghost of someone you used to love
someone you used to say “because of you I’m always alone” to
whispers in Morse
“Look at me now. I’ve come to haunt you!”
Valhalla seems
so far away
like the golf balls
of Japanese businessmen
who are memorizing Zen-English
“Hi, I’m Richard Taylor
and so are you!”

there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
like a metal coathanger
hanging unclothed
sexual pleasure
on empty roads
a leaf falls
Friday
is the cruellest day of the week
is heavy
is tailor-made
made of smashed bus-stop glass
old talk
a café
a real job

there’s a staircase which leads to the roof
where two hornbill birds circle the ancient totem pole
where pigeons build their nests
like a Big Mac
by Picasso
come ye o spirits
that tend on mortal thoughts
spirits of a staircase which leads to the roof
roof of silver, glass, birds
of broken butterfly wings
white, black and multicoloured
and steaming like cowpats on frosty Te Puke mornings
come ye o spirits, owners of copyright
of false, immoral, conceited and deceitful Art
I do not accept responsibility for this poem!




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