Question & Answer 3 – Teige Maddison

Question 3

Why are we speaking in tongues /
why are we not splitting the atom?

You’ve taken a stick to the proverbial bush,
but still haven’t told me who you are,
or how the snow feels on your skin,
or where you hide during thunderstorms,
or what your earliest memory of failure is.

I don’t know you yet, Teige,
but I know your games.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 3

Know my games:
1. I like list poems
2. I wrote this outside underneath a sycamore tree
3. I live in London
4. I once read an issue of Potato Review and I may have enjoyed it.
5. If coffee burns my throat, I may just throw it out with the computer I am writing this on
6. If I normally write in a notebook, why am I writing on a computer?
7. I eat cereal with a soup spoon
8. My name is pronounced similarly to an animal in a famous Blake poem
9. . . . . . . . .
10. Guilt. I don’t like it. Gotta fill in the gaps somehow
11. .
12. teigeline
13. I hope you saw the pun in this line.
14.
15. Going to the ATM, the ghost of monies past jumps out at me from the card slot
16. ‘Dude. There’s no point.’
17. I hope you like games Aaron.

– Teige Maddison

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Question & Answer 2 – Teige Maddison

Question 2

A child. Alone in their room.
A half broken music box pierces
the air with magic. A
lullaby. Christmas Eve. Anticipation.
Drums sound before a piano plays,
interrupted by heavy sounds. Motor
engines roar. Street racing. Adrenaline.
Power. A fight breaks out

between the beats. Leather jackets
drag race up and down the street.
Rebels. Got style. Got swagger. Trash
can music blares from where we, the poor
people live. Junk music performed by
dreadlocks. Cops fight crime in the
distance. A voice serenades the crowds
underneath a glorious, domed

ceiling. Rich men smoke cigars in
a boardroom. They sit back. They
relax. The child alone in its room learns
piano, a classical expression of emotion.

Two women sit hand-in-hand, side-by-side
in a hotel room. The TV is tuned to the news
but it is indecipherable. One woman turns to
her lover, moistens her lips, and says

“Kiss me.” There are no moments
for the other team to shout over, no hostile
words in a setting so sweet. Just the joy
of lips vacuum packed to lips. The crowd
begins to cheer, protest banners are lit,
the world continues to turn. Magic is more

than a box of tricks in child’s bedroom, don’t
you think? It’s the grasp of a broken
hand in a splint made from the stolen air
of a hotel room where room service forgot

the salt. Hotel rooms always smell of empty
film classes and broken camera lenses. It’s
the expense forms that line the building
with sustenance, and the hearts of a thousand
lovers, torn from their homes and forced
to re-enact something close to acceptance

in a steel tube, some fifty miles below the
surface of Jupiter’s third moon.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 2

Questions.
A whole life is spent by answering
Questions,

I have spent my whole life answering questions.
Questions,

I have spent my whole life answering my questions.
Questions,

I have spent my whole life answering her questions.

Question.
Why am I answering this question?

Question.
You do not know?

– Teige Maddison

Question & Answer 1 – Teige Maddison

Question 1

Amba Geshen
Amber Gershwin
Amara – bound
Mount Amara – Abyssinia
Snakes again
Against stakes
Never my DNA
DNA a stamp
Or a plant?
Heirs to a throne
Heaven never wanted
To overthrow
Be overthrown
Foul ball
Imprisoned – in prison
Prisoner as Takla
Maryam
Mirage
True cross
Krossdeath
Amba Geshen.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 1

Dear Poetry,
look out of your windows
take off the latch
slide through the empty mouth
so your legs hang into the living room
and your arms curl around the window’s lip.

now lean backwards into the looming
drop behind you.

know that some poems live like myth,
falling into the sea,
crashing
waves rolling on unconcernedly.

also know that others live as songs of harmony,
others mind-pits for torture, others self-aggrandising
wanks in the mirror,
others canonical pillars, others rot in desk drawers,
others never to be seen, others etcetera etcetera.

Dear Poet,
Dear Poem,
Dear Poetry,

look out of your windows,
take off the latch and slide through
the empty mouth into the looming drop below-

Have trust that your legs won’t break.

– Teige Maddison