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8.28.2007 the front, the sirens high & live wires make for ecstatic marionettes nudes walk west pressing overripe blackberries to their chest and let the juice trace the body to rest in choice crevices sweet await devour. *** the thighs of the damned like bisquik and hot water! the music of the feet of the damned on the pregnant river’s silted shore! the questions of the damned in typewriter voices! the computer where the damned dot matrix! *** the turntable where the record forever waits to be turned over, it’s needle arm in continuous repetitive click at the end of a side, the warm sound you make on the brink of orgasm that richly fills the room where we lie in redtones. *** tornado before siren after rains wash out paper and only paperweight is left to fend. the power of water eroding rock and wind, eroding chemical attachments keep the sound of thump artist’s rattlesong in your ears. *** in the whisperdark of an outage we need something to meditate on to salvage our wits. dwell on an old favorite cartoon show, Tom and Jerry haply, dwell on the French kiss you gave Jeanne to taste the ripe raspberries she’d just eaten. *** eighth hour of the outage, in the moment of flood wading, remember the room of nudes by Picasso, Manet, Matisse faces aware of everything but their own inhibitions and our presence, the still life apple all seeing eyeball unaware of appleness. *** in the pitch of basement, Nicolette mistakes flood waters for the River Styx and her husband for Charon keeper of the raft. when they lay together in the exhaustion of spent midnights, their sweatskin tastes of pomegranate. *** before sunrise John sneaks out of bed into kitchens, somnambulant, he walks over glass mistaking shards for skins of blueberries, eating floor glass, he washes it down with milk laced with his blood vampiric stoical. *** wind predicts. models are nudes are modes of turbulence. in drifting gray of morning after a night of no new moon her negligee tossed carelessly makes a sheer cover for the fishbowl. *** lightning cracks fishwrist and hair stands electric thunder strikes slipdisk distant fabric flaps unhinged unbiased a-burgeoning bacteriality on floors of favorite moldsmell blackberry tongue raspberry entangle. posted by Steve Halle on Tuesday, August 28, 2007 Post a Comment
the front, the sirens high & live wires make for ecstatic marionettes nudes walk west pressing overripe blackberries to their chest and let the juice trace the body to rest in choice crevices sweet await devour. *** the thighs of the damned like bisquik and hot water! the music of the feet of the damned on the pregnant river’s silted shore! the questions of the damned in typewriter voices! the computer where the damned dot matrix! *** the turntable where the record forever waits to be turned over, it’s needle arm in continuous repetitive click at the end of a side, the warm sound you make on the brink of orgasm that richly fills the room where we lie in redtones. *** tornado before siren after rains wash out paper and only paperweight is left to fend. the power of water eroding rock and wind, eroding chemical attachments keep the sound of thump artist’s rattlesong in your ears. *** in the whisperdark of an outage we need something to meditate on to salvage our wits. dwell on an old favorite cartoon show, Tom and Jerry haply, dwell on the French kiss you gave Jeanne to taste the ripe raspberries she’d just eaten. *** eighth hour of the outage, in the moment of flood wading, remember the room of nudes by Picasso, Manet, Matisse faces aware of everything but their own inhibitions and our presence, the still life apple all seeing eyeball unaware of appleness. *** in the pitch of basement, Nicolette mistakes flood waters for the River Styx and her husband for Charon keeper of the raft. when they lay together in the exhaustion of spent midnights, their sweatskin tastes of pomegranate. *** before sunrise John sneaks out of bed into kitchens, somnambulant, he walks over glass mistaking shards for skins of blueberries, eating floor glass, he washes it down with milk laced with his blood vampiric stoical. *** wind predicts. models are nudes are modes of turbulence. in drifting gray of morning after a night of no new moon her negligee tossed carelessly makes a sheer cover for the fishbowl. *** lightning cracks fishwrist and hair stands electric thunder strikes slipdisk distant fabric flaps unhinged unbiased a-burgeoning bacteriality on floors of favorite moldsmell blackberry tongue raspberry entangle. posted by Steve Halle on Tuesday, August 28, 2007 Post a Comment
high & live wires make for ecstatic marionettes
nudes walk west pressing overripe blackberries
to their chest and let the juice trace the body
to rest in choice crevices sweet await devour.
***
the thighs of the damned like bisquik and hot water!
the music of the feet of the damned on the pregnant
river’s silted shore! the questions of the damned in
typewriter voices! the computer where the damned dot matrix!
the turntable where the record forever waits to be turned
over, it’s needle arm in continuous repetitive click at
the end of a side, the warm sound you make on the brink
of orgasm that richly fills the room where we lie in redtones.
tornado before siren after rains wash out paper and only
paperweight is left to fend. the power of water
eroding rock and wind, eroding chemical attachments
keep the sound of thump artist’s rattlesong in your ears.
in the whisperdark of an outage we need something
to meditate on to salvage our wits. dwell on an old favorite
cartoon show, Tom and Jerry haply, dwell on the French
kiss you gave Jeanne to taste the ripe raspberries she’d just eaten.
eighth hour of the outage, in the moment of flood wading,
remember the room of nudes by Picasso, Manet, Matisse
faces aware of everything but their own inhibitions and our presence,
the still life apple all seeing eyeball unaware of appleness.
in the pitch of basement, Nicolette mistakes flood waters
for the River Styx and her husband for Charon keeper
of the raft. when they lay together in the exhaustion
of spent midnights, their sweatskin tastes of pomegranate.
before sunrise John sneaks out of bed into kitchens,
somnambulant, he walks over glass mistaking shards
for skins of blueberries, eating floor glass, he washes
it down with milk laced with his blood vampiric stoical.
wind predicts. models are nudes are modes
of turbulence. in drifting gray of morning
after a night of no new moon her negligee
tossed carelessly makes a sheer cover for the fishbowl.
lightning cracks fishwrist and hair stands electric
thunder strikes slipdisk distant fabric flaps unhinged
unbiased a-burgeoning bacteriality on floors
of favorite moldsmell blackberry tongue raspberry entangle.
Post a Comment