Wednesday, December 11, 2013

the sill

m ate red action’s h
ot wall et les «fatals
ciseaux» in my pock
et opened ,a coin ,like
my mouthed stone green
cools my leg ,so my lucre’s
other’s ,and free of my change

...Je mourus...Sans laisser de cadavre.
- Paul-Jean Toulet

the bucket

cet pied ,your setting
chair deglutante a
glove ,defocused ,foco
de piedra ,where yr
shivering thumb ,rai
sed to the ear ,re
fought the war ,lutte
inmiscible ,of yr cor
nered sleeve ,em
belesada ,sin brazo
ya ,scrawls the word
,de l’air fungible ,que
cobra forma ,y al
zapato entra

...ce chemin de nuage...
-Paul-Jean Toulet

el dedo

ent er we ll ,o sot
ilesa ,for ma tunda
w ,hat yr s hack c lun
g sp ill ,or spell the
sh aper were yr t wat’s
ingasping  .ful minar ,el
f oco lazo ,in mantado
lag o sweatlip shave
for me incáustico ,the
fl uttering m out h ,mot
h m old ,twin of s
lathered mi roir or es
pejo pellejo ror rim ex
zematic ,chuff c huff
yr sorweaty sad dle g
lue  .mime the b reath
held clod ,o mimo en
el zócalo caído

...en la región más transparente...
- Alexander von Humboldt

the sill

spelled the fork hairs
twisty stone nostril ex
recision des écritures
hiératiques grunting
on the fallen wall tu m’écrases...
- Théophile Gautier


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