Tuesday, September 30, 2014

glinting dully, a raw flint repose to gasping piranha

I cannot here avoid giving my most decided sufferage in favour of the moral qualities of maniacs. I have no where met, excepting in romances, with fonder husbands, more affectionate parents, more impassioned . . . than in the lunatic asylum, during their intervals of calmness and reason. 
 Philippe Pinel (1745 - 1826)

none mimic difference in shame
but wholly stripe the endless carape' say undone

non finis
micvic blickenghat fugal

tuppence pear water down
the pp illows willow down

languid faucets to scintillian tt reacle tt ubs
my own hone gown gone grown

and depart art hi tt art
day fell glowering

the cherubim relief pageant sugar bowl
matisse is squashed bodies of pigment

the weird demoness in gauguin
is the asymmetric calabacita

turning wood grain literary
a flame that belches gently curving hyphens

to the venerable fonz
these brackets of hiss lurching out

tundra control them
thin golden masks of ancient women kings

now only berries fox the pages
under storm

and instead of ties they wear bright nooses
and their codpieces

are chattering robotic gremlins

nodda nodda

a direct lifting effect
as when crows flee from the tornado

to settle in these distant fields
in the rusted or abused claws

come crusting mammoths
on their bedposts

humans like snakes in an emblem of a horse
symbolizing the ocean

an eye
made blind by joy in victory

and mirthless
by ecstasy