Friday, June 3, 2011

language snatches from 8 miler today. forgive the poetics.

We are imperfect teeth and elephant soul. Sexdread in mustang head. Muy gusto.

Your hair is a flock of wild song- a knot of psalm- a tangle of riverprose. schoenberg or webern come to mind. nothing traditional, nothing melodic, it wouldn't represent, it wouldn't be right. mouth purses against fist, sawing a sort of flabby reeve sound. Imperfect souls and mustang teeth. Memory may capture what the soul sets free.
You refine language in your sleep. with inevitable poetics, your sad eyes research and catalog doubts, the nuanced recoils, the lulls. . . a reclusive mining, stolen from a witness. I am bewildered by your time in dark mind.
Soul dancing beneath a drape of leather-- lost is nuanced pose, lost is essential movement, lost like a fine-boned bird trying to lift a blanket of ox-skin. Music in a vacuum.
your eyes stay on the level, diamond- lucid. a theater and its heavy curtain. eyes that dissect, eyes that reassemble, eyes. Ballistic like van gogh sunflowers.  I am reassembling, collaging. fragments.

your hair was a tangle of wild song,  heated breath, tooth-raw neck and sexstained ribs. Metronomes of ivory.
You are elephant, soul and ivory, leather, leaden, melancholy.