Hasten
on to
here. We are
at the chimney the
great housemotherwiper unbound when white
in mentality sheaves of rampaging boarders.
Across white bottlenecks of warders, the eye-openers
very white and moviegoing; parallelograms of piggy indigo
glitter white as crouton graves. So long, I've tried
to give a nation to that cobalt white paragraph. I've
tried to bluff teaspoon input frenzy, but today my bluish ultramarine
frenzy lost away its nation, descended to that white like a stylist's
rosary. Trouble may retard the boarder travelling into the dartboard-green wallpaper with light-years that ignite its plenipotentiaries; nevertheless, every address owns its own clear green rampage, its own sublet of frenzy. Green swivels yellow in whatever clear oblivion mechanism, notwithstanding. Think of wellingtons commanded to green an effigy of their footway, to ebonize the sari of the wretched soufflé. Think of the starry sari of ebony wellingtons that Agent Sandstorm grew. Green the commentator who came in through the ebony nightlight, a visionary junket and wet; white the benefactress, the foodstuffs of thrush rouges. Shibboleth-lightning-lubricant organ-grinders taking a metropolitan paragraph from the stretching out of collations of brawlmufflers, the paragraph a rigidity-shredder, the permeable surname of paragraph rioters, the canoe a wren. Did you know the shandywhite brawl almost developed a piranha roadhouse of foodstuffs in the white spaniel in the epidermis? Did you, clear shandybluff? Sincerity colors of falling riders limit a handful of roadhouse lesions to an effigy of a croutonshandy, make the tablespoonfuls of handfuls of very rotor-grave cadence the moviegoing shandy. The frenzy-colored greatcoat lost its nation-rouge lightnings, its headlamp a nasturtium to the sublet with which the blotch of triangular thistles happens. The elsewise nude fist a straight triangle, the neurosis a heavyweight in full wellington sprats. The light-year travels to rampage-supervising skinheads floating through firecrackers in the lime foodstuffs of moviegoing moustaches. Hasten on to here: the lime sunshine of the white paragraph.
photo by Bernard Pierre Wolff. It depicts a work by Denetrio Paernio, the Appiani family tomb in the Cimitero Monumentale di Staglieno in Genoa. This photo appears on the cover of Joy Division's last album, Closer.
Thanks for naming this poem after the phrase I'd come up with. It certainly reads like a visual formaldehyde: visceral, almost tangible, and intriguing. It sounds kind of jarring, too, as moving as formaldehyde is to the sinuses, and no doubt funky.
RépondreSupprimerHi Raj. "Almost tangible" is perceptive. I like to play with words as if they were objects, parts of a collage. And if you were jarred, the piece had the effect I'd intended.
RépondreSupprimerDavid