Wednesday, January 13, 2010

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


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.



Blogger Dee Martin said...

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.

5:19 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

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.

11:01 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

Shekhinah - that was a new word for me. My vocabulary continually expands here.

10:39 PM  
Blogger Teresa said...

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.

1:11 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: Her title came to me late, though not her presence.

7:56 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

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.

8:06 AM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Better watch the boy closely now, Murat. He'll be off to other planets in no time!!!

11:08 AM  

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