15 Jan 2008


: to remember when the air seemed to lag behind itself, to coincide with what was already prismatic, coming into focus. my ghost has already been exposed, declared the stars. it's still very early, and by the time your kingdom has arisen, I will have become a pile of breathless equations, a uniform omnipresence. I refuse to assign them to motives within the pronoun, to the shoreless inner realm where certainty lives. you've likely painted them black and red already, anyway, truly an android's dream of attaining a real eros.

: the world has become cold, but hardly automatic, a war. raw wind asks me to roll into the night after silence has exposed all of its myriad edges. your laugh remained resolute in its failure to observe how angles bounced, became travelled before finally coming to rest in our combat on the open plane. hands on hips, your vague movements were present beside the sun, struggling with the time before culture, the one that always threatens to return fiction to the ruin of the book. infinity points imperiously towards my alcohol-drenched ricochet and names entire swathes of the desert. I can only envy what is relayed by the symbol, sensuous in its tender aspiration to peer through the murk and mire. its dalliance with the solar lottery will soon be undone.

: I nod my publicity, and the shape is just another allusion to leer at, mysterious nylon eyes that dip and dive as if they lacked a solid grip on the world and were afraid to disappear. something plays you, a joyous logic in italics has parked itself in your amnesia's hotel lobby and now haunts every mirror that chooses to copulate without shame. identity is only one of a series of women who invade an hour that senses light amidst all the insane babble reverberating through our hallowed halls. it will replicate a thousand times before i hurt to hold you again. polarity brackets objects torn completely from their contexts, towers crash their approval. the massive uselessness laughs at me, recalling the bone's invocation of poverty as a new kind of presence that answers tomorrow, another untamed obliqueness forced to quench its thirst with gasoline.

: confine yourself to the berserk glimmer, I tell myself, what has already been punctured by the textual purr. is there a deity redoubled in matter's struggle with form, the blur of answers and their flight into abstraction? my orbit means nothing without your perfect harmony, the way you exist wholly as a hermeneutics rather than refusing to play the long silences. now the ruthless world is prepared to succumb without a fight, allowing itself to be transformed into an effusive flora unravelled across a faint smile. the hand that holds nothing has been appropriated like the integrity of something unique to itself shown over and over, its variations halted by my machine flourish. drugs of rapture may have distracted us, but we knew the mist would be indifferent to our madness, a road of kindred sleep or brilliance, depending on the shapes in the sand. squalls in agency's depth, your strength would bring me to birth eventually, a wonder grown to warp in accordance with some typical flesh like rain.


Inconsequential said...

indifferent to our madness

Good stuff.

cocaine jesus said...

addicted to the thought of.
madness comes in various guises.