Vows blight,
Your head turns backwards,
Foul by sun
Corrupted,
Even in crevices,
Promises blister,
So quite now,
I can hear your thoughts from across the street,
This brutality,
Loves deep to sores,
From head to toe,
And surfaces,
Inside,
And out.
Terminal House: Last Lodge
These remnants, rotting keepsakes of words and pictures are mnemonically residual. They are scryed, interfaces utilizing misfired sigilings, systems of incomplete quasi-alchemical call-signs and proto-symbologies loosely based upon borrowed (and in some cases stolen) artificially charged devices. When assembled into specific schemas, this soft machinery marks as it contains, and thus constructs the Terminal House.
18.6.15
Honor My Hive
With motion,
Crows blast meaning,
I trade the sublime, salt,
To wait for her,
Near the house I hung,
In my best, slow suit,
Framed,
Like an orchestra of debris and self doubt,
I release bees,
And she erupts in petals,
Royal syrup share blossoms,
To fall this swarm,
And undress,
Pollen to bed,
Turns jelly to wax.
[Repurposed poetry/ a collaboration with Mr. Jimpers]
Crows blast meaning,
I trade the sublime, salt,
To wait for her,
Near the house I hung,
In my best, slow suit,
Framed,
Like an orchestra of debris and self doubt,
I release bees,
And she erupts in petals,
Royal syrup share blossoms,
To fall this swarm,
And undress,
Pollen to bed,
Turns jelly to wax.
[Repurposed poetry/ a collaboration with Mr. Jimpers]
31.5.15
More Transmissions from a Scorched Earth
These poems,
Are destruction,
Masking symptoms,Are destruction,
And cocooning ghosts,
The weak perish,
Inheriting ash,
Covering suns,
With blankets,
Draw baths,
With waters waning,
With waters waning,
For moons,
Waiting for passage,
Waiting for passage,
Long a transport,
Safely,
Secretly,Safely,
And seeking,
Hundreds of years of sleep.
30.5.15
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)