Saturday, November 04, 2006

the template of cons

standing there, a 'K', a lyre
she eyes the sandstone arch
a wedge and lonely end to edge
the sky's bright-lined loss and ire

standing there, a crease, a maker
she eases airs of simmered figs
dreams awake the wetted low-lands
that steals asleep her lighted taper

lying there, a mood, a flower
she bears and bores and's borne awind
a curse and leaden urn to course
life, which weighted, defies her power

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For reasons unapparent, my phone service's been severed. Dreams're reel-pulled over my center like carbon paper, and screech a dirge for the verdant word. Humour as pale as Her steel tiara'd orb. It's all ok.
There's a roster of germinated projects under my fingernails. None paying. All ghosting on and behind a souring tidal mist. Finally it's that I have fingernails over my dirt, but the clutching motions do nothing to succour it.
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An 11-year old I knew once had such problems of self-determination, he'd flip a 50p coin whenever he met divergency. He could not make a decision. His little head could feel nothing inside to push against when making them. Decisions, however, were made all around him. Over the beige carpets, through the wall-thrust copper-fed currents, under the conifers. Supper was an exercise in cause-effect and beneath the table he'd rub the coin to feel which face was up. Eating those morsels of which it told him. He deferred nearly all choice onto this worthing chunk of metal. It was not that he didn't make them at all, as sometimes he flipped the token until it turned his hidden decision into what he wanted. But he couldn't feel the imperative. The meaning was shy. Even when he threw it away, it'd only be a moment before he'd search for his Delphi in the long grass, takingkeen note of how it landed upon its rediscovery. Ha, how sad, he thought one day, as his 50 plop-onked to the bottom of the bath, my currency is not only my choice, or the knowing that I make decision, but the mass of it.. the fact that I am visiting here only by my actions passed. To be whole, one must feel the heaviness of consequence, and there's no escaping that. Then he felt beneath the bubbles and chased the half-pound back to his hand. And after blowing the suds from his fingers, placed the coin in his mouth and swallowed. I don't know if he ever got out of the bath.

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