Sunday, August 28, 2011

from Unto

Here, in the alembic corpse, where the cortex
Seethes, I lie and loll and metamorphose
Myself into the most supple
Pleating; and then frogs mistake me for lily pads
Which makes perfect sense:
I must, like flowers upon ponds, appear floating
And don’t you just
Love how self-aggrandizing I am----isn’t such
A stance so seductive; yes, yes, I assume
You feel the
Pull of
My words, my oozing
Reality; or is that expression on your face a formality
Meant to quell
And sends deeper unto hell by accident, by
Volition I can’t
Fathom than to call
Insane: the membrane which has failed
To understand its filtering function, has failed
To be what it is and thus can’t
Even qualify as counterfeit of some other
Dynamic but merely stands wrong, stands
Ripe to collapse into wracks,
Regrets, a slow unsteady anguish, a chafing, a chastening,
Channel and
Overflow, official and interstitial, intuition and
Architrave chiseled
Out by a patient ballsy thief sporting tits
So let’s spell out tittsy not ballsy, and anyways you
Don’t give a tosh and that’s fine
Because I have forged you for my own entertainment; I have forged
You that you may dress
In vintage Versace and ballet
Flats, trill and
Trounce upon
My witticisms which have
Grown weary
Of themselves and anything other than stilettos after five pm
If you are, as
You are, a siren whose caramel curls
Activate the activity known as seeing to some other realm of action, to the
Sublime or at-least subtlest sophistry
Like, like, like, like
Simulacrum won’t suffice nor will seraphim, philandering, patching
Up immortal portals which, well, I’m un
Able to deem relevant now or ever, but never
Is never the point.

[big Ellipsis]

I remind myself I am supposed to be haunted as I stalk through this green.

My hair swings like a hammer, but instead of sprains there are silky strays.

I do not condition my hair, nor do I believe silk to be my hair’s innate state.

Through letters the limiting course is eclipsed, then clipped and dipped in enamel.

The I extrapolates unto a totality, unto a titrate and its profile.

She wanted, desperately, to believe fear other than instinctual.

On four legs, it rose, and the rose reared up too.

No comments:

Post a Comment