Tuesday, January 17, 2017

at peace for the mythic remains

if it is no place to be sound
then below the tormented
ragged skies
lies the fallen body of strange Icarus
now covered in long fine erect pink hairs
the eyes tricked out in anemone
luminous in the vast shadow
of a black and pregnant cloud
made more holy
by its absolute ambiguity
its mindless and righteous indignation
toward none of those
that seek to offer it
their own definition

and its fossicked opalescent wings
are rigid as they pierce the ground
extending down into the soil
engendering abstract structures
that intensely placid blastomal wyrms
conceive of as music or architecture
considering those smooth textures found
as a nourishment
to their senses their sensibilities
all around with the inside out
of geometry's collection

but the blood is still red
in the yellow sun
and the blood is still yellow
in the crimson wheel

and the pink furred remains
are the mediolanon
of a single
monadic poem:

its icon victim
and triumphant
sore in the ground
of irony

pax pocked
with the indifferent
and lapidary luxuries
of rhapsody:

run rune ruin rue
roux row
argument goo
integumentum carnalia

a toy house
with glaucus thatch
or tecne'
as an ember in the yolk

an amber yoke
where the cast remain invisible