Wednesday, March 16, 2011

old propaganda texts

his curling firebrands ignited
and his descent like a vicissitude
frozen yet accellerating

the sparkling strands
give to the front of his visage
a chiaroscuro of wild and flickering vivacity
as he forever falls upon the drunken satyr

there is nothing out of place
in this image
there is nothing out of place
in any shrine

we should always take certain silence
and attend
to wherever the image is

image contains
and we certainly

the drunken satyr is innocence
and the wild imp

the door to rapture

complexity at root
is always a rhapsody

a knock on infinite soda doors
of vivacity


electric forms
bolt out from the nether
to the news

is 100%