Sunday, April 10, 2005
Where to send poems these days? I have no idea. But I do love this darn blog, so what the heck.
-- Chris McC
* * *
Broken colors of the mouth.
— Henri Deluy, “An (Enigmatic) Grammar”
If you put metal inside of a man
He can work much faster than you can
— Rasputina, “O Injury”
Between elevation and vertigo, a something inverted, a somewhat unnerved by enervation, somehow unshouldering these sacks of stones. In this settling into setting, a sudden sense of excess, a sprouted sag and swell even as sages shake in protracted contractions.
Having walked that route by rote. Having staved off this craving of cave-ins, having crawled forth from the wreckage of tectonic shifts and continental drifts. Yes, rest pressing down, account for the stillness of shadows and the filthy state of your neighbor’s shoelaces.
* * *
More mechanical than mammal, yet more reptile than replicant. Lacking a mirror to monitor movement, only a blank canvas against which to press one’s profile while adjustments are made for the paralytic flicker of frozen flames. Then lick this lilly’s gilding or grind for spinal fire, hope lotus folds back to blank the mangled hand, mingling such contrary measures.
Upon this turning, stilts tilt, twist, sink into sand, splinters splitting nail from flesh. Skin can singe, sound can drown. The charm of armor, its tensile plateau of thistles bristling in place of both clockface and sightline.
* * *
Flick of the wrist or is that tableau. The telltale freezing of lesions, be they premalignant strictures or merely the metaphoric nipple stiffened in the chill.
Cognizant of each blister’s rip, the muscles’ subtlest ripples caused by every splice, slice, cauterization. Vertebrae straightened, strengthened, a series of stitched strictures gone all avid amid avenues, tingling fingertips tangled within the vivid divide.
* * *
Cartilage closes holes, toughens, grows rougher as pores coarsen. The cut, the shunt, the clog of it all. Time elapsed as beneath the blackened scab, color was sucked upward and tear ducts began to abduct. Yet the excess pressure is pleasing, the crackle of excision even in slow burn.
Soak the lapsed synapse in early afternoon, your forehead embalmed in its subtle secretions. The sense of space between stretch of neck and stiffened lip, gasping to swallow shallow surface or drown amid the drainage, shivering brisk balm.
* * *
For this lithium picnic, a grey-scaled rainbow. For this tardy retreat, a half-assed tango, an erasure of the phantom bride so as not to awaken the easily elysian.
Muses cube, subsume, coil their soiled gowns around them amid fallen arches, sodden gauze. Should we halo or hollow this shallow grave, enshrine this sublimation of the shrouded strangers, or stoop to embrace this liquid image, a subtle shifting self.
* * *
Having bade farewell and embarked into darkness, a hypothetical damsel lost in the marsh yet sticking to her script, she could be waylaid by neither devil nor dervish as she awaited her savior, his limbs ripped from scrap heaps and stitched into sequence.
Within these detached retractions, an anhistoric anathema, an anthropomorphic sort of metastasy. And upon this avatar’s archival, she faints to fake the snake as neither saint nor stained.
* * *
Blinded by the bindings, the wary could neither sleep nor seep. Survived the extraction, then revived by boiling to the point of sterility. Cold control coaxed, sparked as charge.
Each ear an appendage as forehead’s distortion segues space synthetic. Squeezed the portal to orbit astral lapses, voyeur of borders, of utter abyss’s gape of holes all cosmological. A dsymorphic orgy of anorgasmic ecstatics, an existential eskimo highlighted by the underlining.
* * *
Fidget the frail, modulate to shape the gaze’s scrape. Shaking to break, to sunder the hollow, bowl of halo’s shudder.
A hand-written resignation burned to cinder, yet in its final lines, its surface disbursed. Signed this sounding, a slipping outside inner wiring, shading the graze of speech received via a lifted endless loop.