dilluns, 14 de novembre del 2011

An X, not an Y




An X, not an Y



She's not happy coming down the stairs
with her green wide-winged hat
and her green close-fitting dress
so elegant she and kind of divine
but no, she's not glad at all today
having just had notice that all her children
had been killed abroad.

We that are left are not allowed to enjoy the day
the sand the crickets the écrevisses... nothing
nor the helpless wee birds just born into the hot ice.

Sad, we've got to be also sad
we've got to check our enjoyment of life
our greediness for what our senses sense.

And so through the night full of bourdonnements
button by button slowly until the dark cape's undone.

She's such a vision though
when with the sun she tosses away her green dress
and walks naked down the strand.

All nature revives then and my dreams with it
and into the white clean clothes the tip of my tippity prick.

How eager then all for her benediction
unfledged birds naked insects fetuses... all.

And me an earth-filtering worm squirmy of contentment
definitively annexed
definitively annexed now to her all pure purple core!




dimarts, 9 d’agost del 2011

sip sip and something else






tapering off the undulating ululated oaths



plus... (plus... hold tight, for here it comes...) (I’m joking)

holding tight to the ghastly heavens
the strategies of noxious soiled corners...
their seizure over the inhabitants is a classic of intimacy

any sweep squeezed through the littery banality of wonderland routines
even if repulsive as the rudest of solipsisms
instils a fog of reasons and goals worthy enough to be imagined in a ceremony
of intelligence across the autumnal system of preliminary curiosities...

what’s left if not the sycophantic twin fugitive anarchies of light and torture?
(ha ha... clever!)

the peristaltic anecdotes brim with obstreperous copulations
and a frivolous accretion of other healthy catastrophes

the old susurrus of the whore aesthetics that earlier arose misused
contemporarily through a process of scandalous landscapes regain substance

only that the shrinking of the sphere impinges on the mind
psychotic devious abuses are rife
both titans and servants... their grimy nerves wrinkle in exasperation
a conundrum is the (deflating) result
where insane rituals forcibly intervene
fakeries (what’s new?) stand vicarious on the pantheon

a bath of bald fervent senility is encouraged
its squalid consequences impugn any argument

all supine as they sip (sip sip)
apologizing the while and underhanded to the waste implicit in one’s brain

ceremonies rush in (you said it)
voices through giant pierced bones... annoying whining swearings
(useless useless) wagers clearly infernal
ostensible haunting lurid hysterias

outlaws prosper (when didn’t they?) by degrees
the rotting waves of legifying authorities (vain outlaws themselves)
their soft devastations... their pretty homicides always allowed by judges
lethargic puerile motiveless (in complicity)

cohesion amongst the exiled colleagues is never invalidated...

the vexed are farmed out for extermination
a traffic of shrikes
an underworld of withering courage... of languid scented lethality...

the originating types wiped flat out

the rest sending their bleary lidless eyes aloft
toward the domestic ceilings
reclusive unassisted
shelling the sundry episodes out of curiosity
the risks once taken... the oaths uttered...
the weightless ephemerides unsounded

a toasted slap to our consensual slot
the dominance spectrum tenaciously deceives every facet of the stereotype

chameleonizing oneself according to the labyrinthian peculiarities
shifting the degree of depiction... pithy new tendencies emerge

rejecting all antagonism... the epochs... their arrow collapses

the specter of food... a structure glued with alarm
comminates anyone to evisceration

the wolves’ candidate vehemently erodes any satire from the subconscious
intrepid antagonist who concocts orphan gothic banalities
by refusing to shove in or even invoke about any verdict

the rest parade faintly fed
with a clumsy mask embalmed
their optimistic obituaries impress joy of a certain kind

cloying pimps
vindictive denizens whose amnesic fingers sap the historical doctrines
fool eavesdroppers devoted to corruption and wither
rhetorical authoritarians assaulting the blurred benevolence of the abolished structures

the title-holders trying to persuade the reluctant that all crimes of aggression
are a refreshing success for the skin of the heinous planet
the eloquent always... the eloquent and their lapses where every logic is traduced
(I’m lost... lost)

only the wittols are capable of shedding as scattering statues
the bright charismatic torchings of optimism
over the absent serpent that veers to further opacity
as they accommodate themselves to every emancipatory dilemma

are we just subordinate entities flushed up by dumb contingency
and bound non-stop to hidings strenuous
as those to which the anonymous have always been prone

or... or...? (were you going to say something else
you piece of viscous crap?)

for there’s no clarity as the one brought by the wearisome quarry of skepticism
(agh... agh... I’m gagging...
what a vile... vile... vile conclusion... again!)