Monday, April 5, 2010

023: Amphibians

In good hiding, sullen damp dwell,
in black paint behind glass, behind eyeballs,
in tender flesh, coiled 'round rugged bone,
'round spines of strangers I know well;
think you can tell the scalpel swirl
from a puncture wound in the sun's skin,
raped in stoke, reaped in smoke,
this man-made geology carousel
spins us all out of control, autonomy spilled on walls
cold, concrete fall like machine music.
Locked cobweb can-can in crumbling opium dens,
our obtuse, trussed livid bodies,
obscene eye peering through the lens of a noose,
as I know your name, you know mine,
yet we're caecilians to the play above,
beyond the reach of the Methuselah moth,
cellular lives in bardo, years in the clock's tick tock,
tongues will be mute before the echo,
the poison will dry before the ocean.

2 comments:

  1. think you can tell the scalpel swirl
    from a puncture wound in the sun's skin,
    raped in stoke, reaped in smoke,

    um, very yes.

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  2. thank you, valerie.
    must disclose that the "think you can tell..." line is more or less obviously inspired by a line from the (fuckin' great!) lyrics to 'beethoven's children' by circle of dead children.

    ReplyDelete