Hidden Earth Face
slap shot mannikin mashup face
slash Soudden Hurrican’t art
iculate ontologic p’raiseup penned
in predawn crackdown ten’ebrous
shrapnel flashsprout fisherrip up
wrestless raidon poise on floodp’lain
out iced morgue tongue lipping up
that ice-king’s laps hot spurts in jets
spits’perm o’frost o’er Severin’ Macaw
s’trides raw thru skull dust chips
rips empath Thunder jugular’s Bolt
for cover kick in kid nabbed tendon-ball.
Granite, then of Moss
~~†~~>>>::◊::<<<~~†~~
“ripening
all the while”
–Paschal
Beverly Randolph,
Dealings
with the Dead (1862)
~~†~~>>>::◊::<<<~~†~~
>>>::◊::<<<
And so I ran the tariff gamut, every
new condition being more and ever
favourable, amphibious, brought out new
raw properties from within me, and new
beauties to
the salt in
a sun’s sear eye. I was still such in drafted, in
revision one might be of imperial permafrost, is
of no account, ––only states. Something taps me
that I should
slice in every thin cold
cut that ever I
felt, monad detained
though I was logging hours, the song was
barricade was germ was destined to
throw off any large-language-model form
myself upon dead-line
As I nestled
icepick flotillas, slept.
If she would never talk
of petting crimes,
pressure of grief would
allow seldom data
to flow, for
central nervous cycles
over-burdened heart
burnup boingo necktie
and well up, o
slop shop committee
whom I loved so well.
√√√√√√√√√√
“t, for the tear foun
tain seldom thaws”
– Paschal Beverly
Randolph, Ravelette.
√√√√√√√√√√
bystanding mourners
countdown hotrod, publish
“Never more,” and a
tendril batter cancelled
til tears refused
entire floor units:
poor heart
for talking parts
I could weep now
ascend while gasping
floods still gather
spirit legions, spirit
strings snap and crack.
Los Hymn VIII
beyonder furnaces : warforge;mortar
laid adamic bomb : raw’ogre;mordor
nervetrenchWork: flawgr; Orc’force
sanker generoil
tanker
con’spireacy of
contrAries
fallin Albion hacked into sons
Hand>>sunscreedn<<Koban
daughters
into song Albion
Hyle)))mooarnèd(((Skofield
found
all’beio’nation
in warmiidst b’ask the strikill dr’one
tomb’é of visionArieswarms
intuernmeant’s craven craidle hill, come
matter’s mundust
cavern Phandtoms
de chaoslayage fourfolded gates
de hateslough make y’our silop realm
::Go!GoNoOzÂ::
Dleifoks(((à
pox=>vala)))Elyh
sTones into
lumen’s Loscity
Nabok<<vegeteleology>>Dnah
commundus midtst sordid wastes
Translation from the French:
the elephants
by Leconte
de Lisle, 1862
like an ocean sans edge lies the ebony red,
and which blazes, quite hushed, full crumbled in its bed.
an immobile undulation now overspreads
the horizon of copper gas where mankind’s bred.
voided life and void noise. all the satiate lions
lie asleep in deep lairs a hundred miles on,
and giraffes sate their thirst on the fountains of cyan,
way down, beneath the date-palms panthers love to lie on.
not one bird passes by while its wing flagellates
viscous air, where a sun enormous circulates.
there some boa betimes, who while dozing’s been baked,
makes its backbone’s glistering scale-flakes undulate.
thus beneath the fair heavens burns smouldering space.
but, while all in dolorous deserts lie slumbering,
the elephants rugged, rovers slow lumbering
to the realm of their birth have humped across the wastes.
from a speck on the skyline, like a brown in mass,
they draw nigh, upsetting powder, and one detects,
so as not to digress from the track most direct,
how beneath vast sure legs distant sand-dunes collapse.
he at the head is a chieftain of old. his frame
is as chapped as a trunk which time gnaws at and mines;
his head is like a stone, and the arch of his spine
hurdles mightily on with negligible strain.
never slacking his pace nor yet pressing his march,
he leads to their coda ordained his powdered peers;
and, while gouging a sandy trench out in their rear,
the gargantuan pilgrims trail their patriarch.
with their ear-folds outfanned, with trunk tucked between tusks,
they shuffle, eyes shut. beating and steaming’s each gut,
and their sweat in flaring air as clouds rising up;
and all round them a thousand zealous insects buzz.
but what signify thirst and the ravenous flies,
and the sun that is crushing their black pleated back?
they dream while they trudge of the disavowed lands,
of the forests of fig-trees their breed occupied.
they will see once again rivers freed from vast mounts,
wherein howling swim hippopotami immense,
wherein, bleached by the Moon that casts their silhouettes,
they sink to drink as they batter bullrushes down.
and, replete with their ponderous valour, they pass
as if a blackened strip, onto limitless sand;
and the desert claims its immobility back
when from the vista the massive voyagers vanish.
from Leconte de Lisle, Poemes barbares. n.d. [1900]. Lemerre: Paris. pp. 183-185.
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