—
Syrup, little babes; lined up.
Gravy godfather fiendish icing,
and calm cool Tourette’s.
Maybe God acclaimed one little
byway, highway; dawn breaks. God,
I’m
half the size
I was.
—
Syrup, little babes; lined up.
Gravy godfather fiendish icing,
and calm cool Tourette’s.
Maybe God acclaimed one little
byway, highway; dawn breaks. God,
I’m
half the size
I was.
—
Salty undulations,
pregnant curses,
Sodom’s sister, Jane.
Unbroken host,
held up like the sun rising
in the East.
Parliament proceeds to extract
diabolic needle drops
from unremembered holes
within this categorical facade.
Twice in number,
once in everlasting Hell;
my own module of incineration
spectacle in shimmering iridescence.
I cave,
I caught
onto lower
boundaries,
made;
no sense,
no logical or
syntactic mode
of imperfection
placed idly so idly
against the curtains
of a robber’s knoll.
—
Salty undulations,
pregnant curses,
Sodom’s sister, Jane.
Unbroken host,
held up like the sun rising
in the East.
Parliament proceeds to extract
diabolic needle drops
from unremembered holes
within this categorical facade.
Twice in number,
once in everlasting Hell;
my own module of incineration
spectacle in shimmering iridescence.
I cave,
I caught
onto lower
boundaries,
made;
no sense,
no logical or
syntactic mode
of imperfection
placed idly so idly
against the curtains
of a robber’s knoll.
—
Alongside your liquid hydrogen eyes;
peeling carpet off the glass,
and uttering the seal of doom.
On lips
too drenched I surmise
with olive oil our lasting
to speak of it. crocodile headdress
hunting pungent dream.
Staccato & fugue;
leyline sublime, seeping in through
translucent shades;
My isolated gaze,
spinning ever slowly skimming
the last droplets of a morning’s dew,
heathen sour dependencies
dutiful dreams,
A shower, alone, in the absence of light.
Formulating,
characterizing the flow
of neurons firing.
An XXXXXXXXXX XXXXX.
Of which we do not speak.
—
Alongside your liquid hydrogen eyes;
peeling carpet off the glass,
and uttering the seal of doom.
On lips
too drenched I surmise
with olive oil our lasting
to speak of it. crocodile headdress
hunting pungent dream.
Staccato & fugue;
leyline sublime, seeping in through
translucent shades;
My isolated gaze,
spinning ever slowly skimming
the last droplets of a morning’s dew,
heathen sour dependencies
dutiful dreams,
A shower, alone, in the absence of light.
Formulating,
characterizing the flow
of neurons firing.
An XXXXXXXXXX XXXXX.
Of which we do not speak.
—
Interlocking links of a chain smoker’s
last refrain.
In the chimney,
beyond the pale grey horse,
I proceed to doctor
the resulting participles
and past pretenses of a
curious bisexual urge.
Cornucopia of heretical
desires; breathing fire,
mixing myrrh & mire.
Drawn to the
point of singularity
where God must choose
are we men, or are we dust
and ashes from the fall of grace?
One more
hypothetical:
In this frozen landscape of time,
do we drive out demons
without reason, rhyme, or meter?
Choke on
holographic
metronomes.
Bury me
in a pile
of soot
and hymns.
—
Interlocking links of a chain smoker’s
last refrain.
In the chimney,
beyond the pale grey horse,
I proceed to doctor
the resulting participles
and past pretenses of a
curious bisexual urge.
Cornucopia of heretical
desires; breathing fire,
mixing myrrh & mire.
Drawn to the
point of singularity
where God must choose
are we men, or are we dust
and ashes from the fall of grace?
One more
hypothetical:
In this frozen landscape of time,
do we drive out demons
without reason, rhyme, or meter?
Choke on
holographic
metronomes.
Bury me
in a pile
of soot
and hymns.
—
Her mind is like
Herd psychology, in transition to a swarm
intelligence.
Backyard metabolic surges, shifting,
here among the lilies
and the rickety ill-tempered
prostrate cancer foil ideologies
we used to swim around with in
a bucket full of nuclear reactive serum.
Her mind is like
Maximum entropy,
childlike strange and simple
slushing sounds pinned down and hard to pry apart.
I crack open the shell,
to find a daydream
waiting for me,
A haunted night’s blessing
intermixed with musical
transparency & neglect.
—
Her mind is like
Herd psychology, in transition to a swarm
intelligence.
Backyard metabolic surges, shifting,
here among the lilies
and the rickety ill-tempered
prostrate cancer foil ideologies
we used to swim around with in
a bucket full of nuclear reactive serum.
Her mind is like
Maximum entropy,
childlike strange and simple
slushing sounds pinned down and hard to pry apart.
I crack open the shell,
to find a daydream
waiting for me,
A haunted night’s blessing
intermixed with musical
transparency & neglect.
—
And if the arts fail,
it is because we have hungered for
other avenues of creativity;
birth & blood & fire.
In the window, from above,
I let a lonely sigh.
And is it,
or is it not,
the c o m p l e x i f i c a t i o n
of an overactive
imagination,
steaming solely
with references
To fire,
& water,
& hydrogen,
curls of blonde
hair wrapped
slowly and methodically
around me, around me,
and I am
sinking
in her swollen
kiss.
A punctuation.
Stab, in
the dark.
—
And if the arts fail,
it is because we have hungered for
other avenues of creativity;
birth & blood & fire.
In the window, from above,
I let a lonely sigh.
And is it,
or is it not,
the c o m p l e x i f i c a t i o n
of an overactive
imagination,
steaming solely
with references
To fire,
& water,
& hydrogen,
curls of blonde
hair wrapped
slowly and methodically
around me, around me,
and I am
sinking
in her swollen
kiss.
A punctuation.
Stab, in
the dark.
—
Orthodoxically;
I paragraph and plot,
dismember matter
into harsh, cold linguistic sentences.
I tokenize what’s left
of our disappearing silhouette,
and claim gravity’s consumption
on the inkling and the state
of being sane.
My attic is full of misogyny.
Little echoes of death haunt me.
And here, the tell-tale signs
of an over-active ego.
I am the rover;
mapping Mars.
Re-tell me,
of the confusions
of the saints.
Francis’ fears.
Augustine’s follies.
And the square foil crown I put upon my head.
—
Orthodoxically;
I paragraph and plot,
dismember matter
into harsh, cold linguistic sentences.
I tokenize what’s left
of our disappearing silhouette,
and claim gravity’s consumption
on the inkling and the state
of being sane.
My attic is full of misogyny.
Little echoes of death haunt me.
And here, the tell-tale signs
of an over-active ego.
I am the rover;
mapping Mars.
Re-tell me,
of the confusions
of the saints.
Francis’ fears.
Augustine’s follies.
And the square foil crown I put upon my head.
—
Such is the evolution of
one thousand scores
bright white light, white
HEAT.
And I have entered,
the fleeting parabolic
downturned thought.
Ingrid’s methamphetamine
psychoanalysis chamber,
rotting teeth, rotting
ever-never-ending flame of unconscious thought, streaming at the rate of one past ten in the morning, hear me, hear me, now in the absence of a trickery we’ve all been down this road from one sign of the hypothesis of planes and angles to the inordinant cosmology of heterosexual youth in its prime. I came out of this dream faster than I went in, and two steps
too many
down this
road and
into an inauguration
of the senses where deeper
—
Such is the evolution of
one thousand scores
bright white light, white
HEAT.
And I have entered,
the fleeting parabolic
downturned thought.
Ingrid’s methamphetamine
psychoanalysis chamber,
rotting teeth, rotting
ever-never-ending flame of unconscious thought, streaming at the rate of one past ten in the morning, hear me, hear me, now in the absence of a trickery we’ve all been down this road from one sign of the hypothesis of planes and angles to the inordinant cosmology of heterosexual youth in its prime. I came out of this dream faster than I went in, and two steps
too many
down this
road and
into an inauguration
of the senses where deeper
analysis took me
where flights bleed into
the unconditional
love of Him
who took the prism of
God and shattered it;
So that we might be forgiven.
—
Salem bells ringing brightly,
singing through the shadow
of an overgrown presumptive
marmalade.
Someone’s been in the
foil; picking at the meat;
steam vents synthesize
the coming of our Christ’s
second invocation,
And the howling
of the moon
doth
Flare like gods
with little bulbous
heads, all breaking
to the rhythm
of the sinking
of our ship.
A fluid transcription for the fire;
remade & adolescent conjugation;
it is never the world which wakes
from deeper sleep than eyes
Hidden in the frosty chasm.
—
Salem bells ringing brightly,
singing through the shadow
of an overgrown presumptive
marmalade.
Someone’s been in the
foil; picking at the meat;
steam vents synthesize
the coming of our Christ’s
second invocation,
And the howling
of the moon
doth
Flare like gods
with little bulbous
heads, all breaking
to the rhythm
of the sinking
of our ship.
A fluid transcription for the fire;
remade & adolescent conjugation;
it is never the world which wakes
from deeper sleep than eyes
Hidden in the frosty chasm.
—
Kraken hallucinatory expanse;
a whisper of denial, and chance
topographical, otherworldly designs.
I gave my children
to the moon,
gave them up
as one would
echo.
Echo, in a curvature of space too narrow,
too emboldened by fear. Doubt. Hopelessness.
In it,
I go; I push
through the barrier
of gods’ reincarnations,
no blessings bestowed
on either me,
nor on
the words I
have uttered
in the dark
recesses
of my
amalgamation.
—
Kraken hallucinatory expanse;
a whisper of denial, and chance
topographical, otherworldly designs.
I gave my children
to the moon,
gave them up
as one would
echo.
Echo, in a curvature of space too narrow,
too emboldened by fear. Doubt. Hopelessness.
In it,
I go; I push
through the barrier
of gods’ reincarnations,
no blessings bestowed
on either me,
nor on
the words I
have uttered
in the dark
recesses
of my
amalgamation.
Maria Morisot 