i stared and he smiled.
from his belly extended
shafts of light, yet he
looked mundane, with delicate
features and thinning hair.
he gathered up the trailing wire.
the data was neatly filed on the net
since papyrus was perishable.
behind the wheel,
moral questions run
together like gunfire.
she used her ISDN connection
because it meant taking that risk.
pausing to suck grime from her fingers
she did not understand what she herself had created.
his bones were pulled out, but
he still had his anger, fast
and ragged over the wet cobble
of a giant pump assembly.
it was black here, and riddled with tunnels.
the coleopter whimpers in metallic pain
to the distant throbbing of music:
a wave of grief and exultation.
The vane a little from her. He, unmoved,
the forest of itself–the sexton keeps–
the soul selects her own desires, she
repeated–holding on–the dawn; the sun.
A boy, along appointed sands. A child,
the first in fight! The two Malays, unmoved,
a fame petite–a few ascetic eyes–
in England. If the streets were running, and
the bridges often go. The time. The sun!
Her lips; a purple tar, the sea. The sun.
The chief. A man. A light. The hope, amongst
the men in them. The thunder–had expired–
in human nature’s West! The apple on
the glass. The creatures chuckled on the ground,
between the rooms, until the morning and
the silence of the bird, a leap, a half
a smile, her face, her fingers at the child
in his possession–of the host–away.
Composed using Gnoetry0.2. End-user added a few em-dashes a’la Dickinson…
Emily Dickinson, Complete Dickinson
Joseph Conrad, An Outcast of the Islands
an icon of liberation:
broken bottles and
there was a silence,
an abdication of the pioneer,
and pieces of a korean pickup.
for a while, they were right,
after splattered dripping drinks
and a jittered laser track.
the alley was empty again
and i must not port
the sick lurch of my thoughts
or see the holo of the princess
that posed a danger
to the other power nations.
Elektra & I
our tongues tied in a knot
our mirrors pointed at mirrors
are obliterated in a flash
rusted iron triangles
resonate in white
love letters inscribed on my tongue. the brandings of a red dragon. pockets of nothing. perfect servitude.
bee keepers lamenting the stinger.
he looked at the mushrooms
and of the drug in the jacket
and of the derm in the cabinet.
someone who matters,
an assertive air of ersatz authority,
they used that stuff.
security at the morrisey.
with his other hand
singapore is a phone call away
Alternate title: “mental kidney failure” (because how great is that line?!)
At edde’s suggestion, I’ve been toying around with WordCram the last few days. I can’t lie: I love it. He also suggested that I post something of that genre here (“visual poetry built from a language model”, as he put it, does seem like it’d fit in, here). I’m still tinkering, though, so that might have to wait until next week (or the week after, seeing as next week brings my daughter’s birthday, followed quickly by my own, and promises to be super-busy).
Instead, then, something that caught my attention earlier today. The source text is this post on Google+, which, frankly, I am at a loss to describe. I ran it through charNG, and the results were, needless to say, rather amusing.
Together or not together in loss through repeated infection in despair, I come healthy here to lose. I wish to lose. I WILL SEE my Truth. Not that I am too gentle. that is unnecessary to suffer, I guarantee it. I wish together in our Truth to lose. I am an I, agonizing ego. The One Soul that I am and am yours. Cease the illness, distraction. Cease the mental kidney failure specifically. I can't avoid it completely. OUR SOUL IS CALLING IN ALL WAYS. I AM YOU. I wish to lose, wonderful, but together. Not us. That is why we are. We are everythings. (If you get us ignore this.)