one word falling sand: powder
fathoms of you,disparate souls,
desolate foals
casting fate,
echoing the chase,
filing the least away,
aching beneath all
the aching sweat,
the nooning riposte
gathering moss
switchbacking the embers
of doubt.
Feel your way
past the icy core,
the masking time.
Bypass the mitigating
circumnavigations
you were bent
on sharing, wont
to foist
in the name of
itinerant incineration.
I gave to lesser souls
in the name of all
the johns who ever
cast their dice
in the inferno
of my distillate joy.
Cowardice has its
pleasures, bellyfish
chaos, target practice
in the abyss. Find
your way home, crumpled
self and all, neon surgery
on the eyelids
of your back forty:
combustion screens
the closet door,
while your waifs -
abacus babies
in the mire -
lead from start to finish,
rosy peccadilloes
whining their way
to the more
& more.
Labels: swarthmore strut
posted by murat11 at 7:22 PM
7 Comments:
I like the idea of switchbacking the embers of doubt - zig zagging back and forth, ever climbing no matter what. Those would be ways to get around those achy, sweaty, mossy, mired infernos. Not crazy about leaving those misbehaving babies though. I liked so much of this. I have read through it several times and still like taking down pieces and turning them over and looking at all the angles, before setting them back in their place, all shiny and not crumpled or whiny at all.
Dee: This one was definitely a wanderer, a walkabout. A whore even: looking, searching, uncovering: stilted, hardscrabble, underbellied. I think she's only telling / only found half the story. Shekhinah.
Shekhinah - that was a new word for me. My vocabulary continually expands here.
I read this in the morning, and came back again tonight. Loved the flow of the thoughts in the poem. Still haven't gotten fully into its tesserine flow. I am jolted awake by the "Swathmore strut" as the tag after being mesmerized by the hypnotic flow of the poem.
Dee: Her title came to me late, though not her presence.
Teresa: It will come as no surprise to you that Dante is creeping around and through these lines; I am reading The Inferno with my seniors. Though, as I mentioned to Dee, the Shekhinah is here, too. I can't quite recall the genesis of the Swarthmore strut, as it came almost instantaneously: I believe it was a tangential riff off another pair of words that did not have the requisite rhythms.
Speaking of tesserine, Mr. Baby has been reading A Wrinkle in Time.
Better watch the boy closely now, Murat. He'll be off to other planets in no time!!!
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