Sunday, 24 June 2012


A prose poem/collage that takes the 'Internet' as its source.
(A dabbling foray that may have further parts...or may me, Mollusc.)


As aimless fingers find
Fields of digital windows,
Each more unnecessary than the last,

It begins to continue.
This sedentary odyssey,
Always scrolling.

Suffering, she thought, was the same as poetry
And so climbed aboard the ancient analogue box,
Held its new ink aloft
And now:
To read a printed history.

Painstakingly your ear,
Up against the picture frame.

‘The doorway of a nameless guest’
Not so severe dearest
Self chosen as Tourette’s from buffering roulettes and served salted on the lipstick napkins. God the dressing and undressing of all this fuss has made me want to skin the arms of all the - What can you hear?
And without so much as a warning we drink. I didn’t so much choose to redecorate as paint the place in evidence. We began the evening with light cookies and charming finger food for the manicured -smoked salmon rolls, goat’s cheese, olives-that sort of thing.
We lift sugar and chase the typey typey times.

Medieval European ghosts were more substantial than one was led to believe. These ghosts prescribed in the Victorian age, were nine times out of ten relatively livid. Tell me that some of this matters
That these steps may settle ended.

Here we go turning pages beyond
And assure the dust their shape is worthwhile
Creatures mumble and I burn with that silly itch,
That self inflicted iron age
There are accounts of ghosts being wrestled and restrained by confession. Some were less solid, and could move through semi precious subway stations. Often they were described as sterilized and miniature versions of the person they had been while alive, dressed in tattered gray rags and listening to themselves through motel walls. The vast majority of reported sightings were colour blind.
There were some reported cases of armies, fighting at night in the forest, or in the remains of an Iron Age hillfort, as at Wandlebery near Cambridge, England. She was of course beautiful, although the primary religion: long black Hispanic hair, olive skin and a devastatingly magnetic chin made you happy, this wont do, tarmac, sooty submarine and the infinite emulsion of everyone trains me to hope you can forgive me, for, without boasting, I suppose this sin has a certain irredeemable grandeur, though I was not to know that their tailored suits and ballroom gowns would slowly turn like crows or snag, stitching torn on candelabras, the smaller ones hooked on nails jutting from the beam, they seem (you said) like puppets on a kind of mobile, still moving yet. Living knights were sometimes challenged to single combat by phantom knights, which vanished when defeated.
From an apparition recorded from 1211, at the time of the Crusade, Marshal of Arles wrote recently of a murdered summer who spoke as a boy allegedly in conversation with anyone who wished. This was until the local priest requested my boa’s mistress drowned herself. Box taped up despair.

The woman eats the
Very last bowl
Of pomegranates,

Placed as a monumental conversation
Piece. The very first among the dusted dynasty-
Don’t pretend King-or Pimp, or Chief consultant of all local forms of lichen and moss. 
To speak to the boy directly,
Leading to an extended disquiet.

This circus, these freaks, my friends, my arms, my birdman and elephant the golden chain-it stopped so long ago. Of course in a way so much has ended. Then, following that tastelessly tasteful charade several partners and myself began to prepare the dining room. We laid out the table with your wedding dress to resemble the elbow of Aphrodite (or so it is said). In a fit of despair the woman drowned herself. This was not easy, and, in the last moments of her ill fated and beautiful life, she labored memory. Here we go turning pages beyond the bookend: The marble guardian. The box taped up and marked with hurried pen, decrees: ‘front bedroom’ or ‘toys’ or some last gasps of the impersonal. This was not easy, as before in the last moments of her ill fated and beautiful life, she regretted only one thing. She regretted that she had never once seen herself in a mirror.

I didn’t summon the house with four windows drawn by Jack. His house was on fire. All of the strength I painstakingly and with such innate ease sweep beneath my epidermis and the postcards pile and the figures loom through frosted glass, strange, I use to know my neighbors. None of us have visitors, In search of mice we looped a bandage around the long arm of the giant clock and tugged until we felt the horizon shifting, at which point I declared myself we do the talking without a voice-a neat trick we learnt way back or some other carpet louse: Anything that comes bearing the sense of surplus monetary indulgence… like so many other ants: frivolity, pretension and the like, on a silver platter, with cocktail sticks like upper class splinters.

 We decided to spare them until the final dish –
 By which I mean her charisma,
 Be it social or libidinous
 Seemed to jut
(Almost rudely)
From the lower extremity
of her face.

At the age of 17 she chose to intentionally disfigure herself with a sliver of glass taken from her mother’s mirror. The intensity of unwanted dinner.  Spirit rappings. A referendum in 1995 led to public outcry and the germination of several songs. The country has had two official languages: Belarusian and Russian. The Constitution of Belarus does not always declare an official religion, although seeks to undo the certitude of a governing (holy) body. Iron Age Iron Age Grey was born and raised in North Highlands, California, to a working class family. Her mother, the state of California, her father a mechanic. Her parents divorced when she was stuck in a small jar of shelved murmurs, or that bug, between grey walls and always shaking as if the face might crack in two. Raised by her mother, who remarried 2000 or so suitors before calling the whole thing off, which incidentally did little to quell the tide. She's stated that while her parents hated her involvement in the adult industry, they get along.

Grey schools among the high,
Before graduating unhappy
In each year. She waited tables
At a steakhouse.

Edit a Pornographic film career
And tell me I don’t know you-
To the best of my ability
Closing down she slips away.

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