(Image: through, Copyright © Olia Svetlanova 2017)
.... ......... |.. ..
They told me
I had to imagine my ability. Once
I was able to look in the mirror at my testicles
glowing.
What he thought
And what I thought, on two different days, were the
tenets.
I’m tired after work, all day
Working the land. Lore feels the span of its passage
And with us belong you, the span.
Just as dogs will lick each other
Affirmation is in vain.
It’s over. Not unlike these. One looks
To one’s ground in prehistory. For a long time
My mind assembled in a perfect order. My rhythms
Easily and naturally became the rhythms of
The household. The household where I was kept
The lords of where, and on what days.
The ordure, and giving out, and uselessness
Of steps forward.
We had all become brides, lookee!
We had all become men rolling the logs
The mud, look, the mud tightening on the trouser leg.
A thriller cum opera.
A morsel of leg on fork tip.
How will we imagine these lawns, if we
Imagine that these are lawns. The quiet of
The street is nudity. Nudeness. A bit of abdomen.
You are indeed mistaken if you think
Life is to be enjoyed.
Physically, and without power
And under earthquakes as account. Mein Mund!
Yew handing up the bar by the torpid clave.
Fucked.
He was last seen coming from behind a stone wall
Buttoning his pants.
Must this be taken up. The distress that is these
lawns
Naked and energizing and if you put one
Left leg up and then do the right leg.
(taken from
HOLD ME, an unpublished manuscript)
The goddess of
sex flowers and corn.
The devouring
mother
A death black
hand of quality
and the arbor
above
« vinegar with
water »
Jenny is Je nie
is I deny
All it has to
do is measure the blackhole in an atom of a second
measurement of a
blackhole as big of the sun
Rimbaud
Tezcatlipoca The One legged Man The Half Man
And that’s why
cavemen loved blonde hair...
What is the
oldest blonde body ?
(taken
from Sslliiiirriiiinnxxss Mythology, an
unpublished manuscript)
LORD
Your clitoris
was this thing that hanged
like
ferns.
Brighter
than fusion.
Bright as
ferns.
The
grammar at the gate. The gems, black drapes in a perfume of blue,
grow as
branches and elongate.
And I lay
down.
Sagging
rotund like a Furher. Not the one
sealed in
blue rouge,
to ever
wheel around limpid in the suspension.
How I was
there a house and there
forgotten,
legless, desirable
reproof
to the angel
and his
southern knowledge,
this or
the first posture. We requite it thus as
I would
he transpiercing fury or praise.
Calamity,
your will, the
vista
from a derivation.
The
crease in elements.
Where in
thee do I go if
it is
thee I go into
witnessing,
like song
or
pertinence,
like a pulse
whose god
will eager to close circumference
abolish
its
state.
Ballast
of tissues, this only, is origins! And the canoptic
ferrously
smooth
Apteronotidae
but
little of disorder from this first
hour of
spring. It seals the same
living
surface, and the companions are
similar
noble augerers. Your palm touched my hip
like a
cloud or sprig
of
nothingness, your vibrations ascend
the
unending belfries of my adulation.
I feel
the withering of
an
ancient insult
like an
orgasm like nothing.
And like
nothing not known, and instead of
knowledge,
generational celery fronds
drooping.
Law isn’t it.
As it might be mustard plants that correct
their fleshing chart in an air of dissipation.
The teens will be groveling
and with the simplest
open crotches of their jeans. Bereaving is up, o
bereaving spruced,
it is graceful to climb
one another
and lodge centers and foliage
all the way in and let the spreading continue
plainer. This is true, and
why not his organ part and wreathe who could know
could care
trapped in pack ice, with the immediate evident.
And we feel that, one is assured a beginning.
I suddenly cry our heart attack
what were the preparations, why
I believe I was shrinking, I believed I was
shrinking and what made this
more heart rendingly unsuitable
were the journals, and
the lozenges of shaved battalions. You know no
natural
answer to the sense of the further plains.
O Lord of Mice!
With this fiend afloat in a sloshing maze!
And diamond butterness!
As I am laud I am nearly forgotten!
If here below in this passage not very much at all!
If senseless, water is stepped across, faced, and
drunk of!
You are of a quiet that flowers do not notice!
You are of a sentience that founders in cause nor
effect.!
Go, tiny calendar!
Annihilation is the bough clung with wrath, over a
fountain in wilderness!
And you will be made through one of our all that’s made!
And not a braid of crushed melons, or crown of organ ice,
or myth like song or vista
toil,
busily grossing, and it is within oak afflatus bruised as it is firelight on
mountain watch relays!
But I cared for herbs
and animals, and the last promise.
These are drunk teenagers napping together
but hers poured.
Hers, a grizzled calibration, and
Hers, knotted at the hip so wheresoe’er
the canteen loll sportingly.
He was securing his wife. You are my meaning
but immensely so and more sufficient
and instead secretly convalescent. Like a tiny, prim
industrialist.
So, facile efficacy. Droopy iced
in the early frost. And we can listen to that clatter
jellybeans by the port.
There’s crud here.
There’s crud on that oak, and on the porch.
That’s my wife
and there’s you, selecting a temporal for fusing.
The aim is conquest, how return
us from this aim of conquest, if successful, and how
return us from this aim of conquest
if failing? This boiler
newly installed is a prototype
and a considerable mass of wind in solid sails.
How long ago was it, or could it have been
that the one frozen in a block of ice
floated to the surface and now
these could be lilies, but they are purple like
cabbages.
I decline the object born
of this pattern. Remember you this?
The forcefield of traits, but
without expression, and the shining lore
seeped out of nations.
How chiefly the weed stirred in the radioactive flight
of gloom.
Could not tell if sound were happening
or which of the sounds were part of sound.
Why do I do this and cluster
and not give them more, all of them, all of it.
I have said, he will be allowed a heart like the
gates.
All that went before
I had never seen, nor
was the same less. Nor was waking the light lighter
than
what I processed in consilience reordinating vellum.
A choir of generations jerking off over a small petted
titty
equally fruitless.
Those that were hatred in Pearl like
Judea in winter, will never leave. The light was on
two staircases
and no one, like man, comes back
and no one leaves, and I was not taken away
to be perceived by it. The succession will leave
and from afar, on its traitful course, and into their
natures
that which a friend would look upon.
He sees it vanish, slowly arise and consume
its course like lightning through analogues.
It is yours.
Isn’t it? And that is all this! This was as it looks
in the nighttime in the daytime of the village. Small
creeping
sails looking purple but its not that they are
purple.
Lovely eagerness to walk
as if floating down the path stunned jiggered death
split
one’s silence, long removed from the veil of cousins.
Song bells bursting
out of female song. Female lights that are like men!
Look at these unspeakable haunches!
Frozen nature
gliding reticules, no one is like men, not even
the without pain dolor.
Or not, the glittering could be the debt of magic.
William!
William, if you never read this, I love you.
There is just one of you
in the summer
and the winter.
I am your mere recorder. The mother of hussies
realms mysteriously within flowers as an ox leads a
dwarf to the presidence of our marriage.
The south is a masculine black joy, the te deum is
like men!
Aqueous torsion, and is like men
coming round from a veil but no one is like men
and all utterance is like them, and all mothers
aging the wide ruptured plume fleshes
a black ocean, but it is in her sleep, with piteous
ribands
having two transferable choral utter
in its birth, life, I say life, impeach
me that it is life and everlasting life emitter of elm
scented
woes and the revisaging rule overrule!
As the lamp turns down the voice of all cleans its comb. And he is just
one of you, binded to his place, fractive upon the colossal, newlier motherlier
denserer always silently awed as with a horde gathered before him. Ox gouged
lines into the soil. Sacristans kneaded god hell. Came then the subtle changes.
Just one of you, more than once he handed to a kettle and some glasses. Are you
really thinking how shall three in number court thy immortal, their chains, he
told, all three held thy feelings grasped they be to you and how alter
revelation to this scenery? You’d rather he had not as naturally be led from
chorus he seen the fearing one he was just before he again embodied that
fearful monster. He drank that when he was fourteen, before going to school. He
was drunk and gorged out in the morning, and he was celibate as waves like a
little child dead.
Look at that house full of plants and meanwhile
withdraw into it. Sometimes I rip the contract, and at
other times
am I truly
all three in those arms thus tainted
I know what you meant by men, and all the mornings
before it
they, but those, confined, also the increased
And so shall the shyest forests
in all their spit upon lives be sent as a floating
obsequy down a hill
and children are undertaking the
christening of this plateau
and a children tote from stove to countertop a kettle
and will never leave me the not reaching and
reshrouded be the same for
not so amiss was I young
brazen festering cum of the sleigh
the money powdered in the very palm of the hand like a
castrated suffix
Child!
THAT they float four ways down the hill down the top of the hill they
float down you so easily ample, yet still deserving. HE he should be married
and with seven children. THE trees gripping their chains and there is and ever
was. LORD can’t hold you all in my crushing black. LORD, they there. LORD, the
mountain of cum, but let it rest and presume full illusion. LORD, there is
still deaths to reach with the salience that is said to come from deaths. LORD,
during the hour which we read the book, I faced south, this may be the abiding
promise of my success. LORD, by twelve I will have a picture drawn, by thirteen
from the fumes of the mahogany we will have turned sallow. LORD, I didn’t yet
know which to caress nor why. LORD, with what does the real retain both
wreckage and pasture? LORD, for when will this torrent enclose the nothing that
recollects? LORD, I am damp. LORD, even my gentleness is the regale of treason
how may I snuff it and be unafraid to caress and nurture? LORD, I hate the
demurrals of the word which sways axes in the murderous buttercups. LORD, sea
to sea is the ultimate ice. LORD, as never who have rested nor as never who
acquired or occasioned liberty. LORD, I dropt to the soily ground and burst all
passionate. LORD, many the portals and many the mountain tops coming out above
clouds. LORD, blue flowers and white dispersed flowers and the miracle of an
ass spreading. LORD, we would adopt from continuous provision, on this day,
like those of the Aprils dimming fluctuate. LORD, even more than the many, and
you, like the many. AND then you do not let us do so.
(taken from Thousand
and One Night, an unpublished manuscript)
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