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10.18.2021 Apparition Poem #1112 #1112 I. “Fuck art let’s dance” only we didn’t dance, we fucked, and when we fucked, it was like dancing, and dancing was like art, because the climax was warm, left us wanting more— how can I know this dancer from the dance? Brain-brightening glance, how tight the dance was, and the sense that pure peace forever was where it had to end for both of us, only your version was me dead, after I had permanently died inside you like the male spider always does— II. Pull me towards you— woven color patterns create waves beneath us, tears buoy bodies to a state beyond “one” into meshed silk webs— not every pull is gravitational— as two spiders float upwards, I say to you (as we multiply beyond ourselves) “those two are a bit much, their sixteen legs making love” This poem in its original form on Halvard Johnson's Truck. posted by Adam Fieled on Monday, October 18, 2021 Post a Comment
Apparition Poem #1112 #1112 I. “Fuck art let’s dance” only we didn’t dance, we fucked, and when we fucked, it was like dancing, and dancing was like art, because the climax was warm, left us wanting more— how can I know this dancer from the dance? Brain-brightening glance, how tight the dance was, and the sense that pure peace forever was where it had to end for both of us, only your version was me dead, after I had permanently died inside you like the male spider always does— II. Pull me towards you— woven color patterns create waves beneath us, tears buoy bodies to a state beyond “one” into meshed silk webs— not every pull is gravitational— as two spiders float upwards, I say to you (as we multiply beyond ourselves) “those two are a bit much, their sixteen legs making love” This poem in its original form on Halvard Johnson's Truck. posted by Adam Fieled on Monday, October 18, 2021 Post a Comment
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