Tuesday, February 21, 2012


Fradicio unto torpor, Frädensduuv to sweep
Past the magnetically deformed mirror, its
Liquid self a fradeło who fondles light
In the midst of the cure as terugtreden,
As more remote, more rare, moor air, motor
Error; question: "Word, or Error?"

War dares. Its ars in ardor erases the ceaseless

Quid ego feci?

Quietly, a spurco fauns our comet, and
Its grey laurels overflow the brow bulk,
As derotti qua insahts; Go...

The drunken flight of the dove.

Soul skill.
Saul AWOL from school today.
Taken by loose circumstance.
The softness of her lips, her cheeks,
Her countenance. If I pause here,
These ruins in luminous and purpling shadows
Are inhabited with gentle snakes
Whose heads are human hands.

We meet in death,
And are a single kindness,
Our circle of no form,
No interior, no surface,
No mouth.

Space is our mother magnetizer,
And this, our familial house is darkness
Lit only by your sparkling eyes,
Orange, blue, white, as doves
Each cooing spark; sarap, serpo,
A thing where tithemian sleepers
Succor confusticatory zosobnění:
Her symbol returns to its deepest wile,
While her body is the garden of all roundness
Exacting psyche's delico (push).

Norman O. Brown reading Robert Kelly's
An Alchemical Journal might have seen something like:
Discipline of the heart. Hsin rapturous devours.
A sentence without commas, leading to the end
Of the world.

I asked the angel why he had been sent. The
Angel lay in a little thicket. It had no need
Of love; there was nothing anywhere in the world
Could startle it.

Of black stone.
The Allah whose name means to grieve.
El allane'. A self whose liquid mirror
Contracts through magnetic force.
Our thighs are entangled
And forget. black orb. black cube.
Obsidian pyramid.

We forget everything,
And this is how darkness
Is more sacred
Than light.

[Entrance to a cave.]

Agnovi nevi evoni
Navioni vo avi igni
Nuva nevioi vevi oini

She will awaken, shower, and practice
The sacrifice of chod to the corporate
Foundary of envelopes. She is the tongue
Of Anubis, rasberry helmet paws.

An envelope factory will devour her flesh.
Sitting here in a distant stomach, I contemplate this.
And then I fall into fantasy:

We are alone somewhere on the road, buying flowers
With flowers, and our bodies are flowers, or rather
Bridges of flowers between suns of blue fur
Whose cores (coeurs) are white nut meats, albino brains,
Vibrating under spongy layers of fetal colloidal
Green doves, a government
Of coarse and feudal fools to beauty.

Our Polynesian bodies
Are clusters of brown pearls
Auratic in sea foam, and life
Just rolls along, and our heads
Are yellow signs. laymen hands.
Oysters. covering stalagmites.

The secret soil confounds.
And sounding its depth a situation
Is secreted. We gesture
Through a sheet of oil,
Our features seem riempibile,
But not empty, and the entire
Motion of the completed movement
Is drunken, exact, more sacred
Than naming.


The back porch is sloppy.
Alchemy is lurching, tumadh.
My golden wife will call to me,
But mountains, and seas
Are eunuchs.

Bull echinoderm move through constellations
Of irritant chimes, each the tablature
Of waiting, Astragalus Poterium.

I am the golden calf, a retort of flowers.
When my wife blows through my nose, mercury
Pours from my udders:

Spin motor alarm.
My shoulder is broken.
For a sphere which holds
An orgy of flowers,
Four boiled eggs
For a plinth.

Apelles paints Apocynum.
Gerarchizzare, the lisp
To the abonimomentum, asylum
To the desfiguraré.

We make a soft and supple spheroma,
And our names are lost in its moindre greillade,
Conatus upon lionced dolcificarete gorgonosy...