Monday, January 12, 2009

dysnarrative eructation unbelieved to be untrue

take your hands off me for the last time—Soft Cell

some so dark shape it was that lay
lullay as a virgin.......... squawking unto the swirls
which flitted and flattened in lissome flight

holding hard hold hard this is or ever was
more and less seemed riotous
though was no more
than the long droog of several grey battlecruisers that slept in scapas
in the going
and in the rising

and in the merest scuttle

of long ice long it lay
uncovered mantled
in quiet

thoughts of men
who gave only bubbles [and giving] thus nothing

eek quickly withdrawing themselves to sterile parlours in which to rot down
laugh as sheeps ................seeing themselves daubed
don't you get it yet you should
for the scramble............. laugh still ...O they lilt they laugh
at the lift [wherein] nothing more
but sky's slow fuck of's slowfucked elevation

and insignificance
of all that was before

the belief that held them
in such flat & stable systems as were then proposed
as the realities of others as fire reeled down hillsides
stripping away years ugh now thereby pronounces
all involved preemptively
& retrospectively dead

all of it to be fervently undisputed forever

in the fierce favour of wingèd flight


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