Friday, December 20, 2013

le sud

the ash hock ,ply ,would
spl inter calar ,ni voz
,tócame ,riñón ,leva dura
bicicleta o bigote goteado
 planificación ur bana l
sin túnel   )my craw ling
syn apse(  “just c hew ,i
t p lung es” my flesh my
                            Tree  e


the gnat

spread said lung spent the
...foarce of shingle ,off the
roof breath my ^ flaming elbow
~~...what rises from the thumb
“your mouth” a green nickel
on your tongue your moth sh
oulder where the speckled te
xt ...I ran outside my p
ants  ...the written sidewalk cr
umbles ...I had “nothing left”

]]what’s heard inside the Sandwich

la urbe

chain of sinks a
hot hell ,dampness
combs the rinsing
fog the seeming hill
of masks’ a breast
,eyeless ,seeing ,seen
from the dusty grava
de hoja seca ornada
,los grifos mudos son
y en los bajos
la maleza tupida se sonríe

...yeux, clairs sous le masque.
- Paul-Jean Toulet

the disk

sludgy well ,or air’s expans
ion ,if grey with dust it
thicks ,a drying b rain ,with’s
eyes ,what sees es el fin ,a
l umpy wall of meat ,bloodless
,so’s thin like leaves ,fallen
from the burning tree wh
at connects ,or did ,the worlds
without pants ,nor beaded necks
,p ages which all time contain
the bindings blind s ,sin
ojos por the water’s text
,where an onyx cup with st
ones is filled

L’air immense ouvre et referme mon livre...
- Paul Valéry

the blood

yr rust ling chee k
pail      for  mica      ton  sure
the su gar es capade ,cor
  nered as h yr shirt’s
binding where yr r ecto f
ades and the vers o’s
in’s la go di suelto

teeth barking in yr shoe


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home