one word knee-high: grape
turvyfate's thin guise
crude huts sloping
ventricles of night
blossoming
gravity's rainbow kissed,
articulated,
fashioned
in the dreaming mist
of eventide,
the ebb's missed
preoccupations;
timing the verities,
reassembling
the neap-tides
of the frontal lobes:
Gargantua
on the couch,
hissing vigilance,
the Doktor in her
decline,
april's canneries
blown by Santa Anas
no ghost could
ever know.
Labels: genuflection
posted by murat11 at 6:27 AM
8 Comments:
Um, how do you get from "grape" to a praise of Gravity's Rainbow??? Love the Gargantua on the couch. I guess she is popping grapes as she reads the opus magnum. Loved the "neap-tides of the frontal lobes" and "hissing vigilance". Perhaps your grapes are bunches of succulent word clusters?
I'll take the tesseracting, Sister - otherwise, we're completely out the grapevine . . .
Do tell. Where'd you locate that creepy parlor picture? It's like Baby Jane and Sunset Blvd. rolled into one. You just need a dead monkey upstairs. If I read between the lines, I know there's one there. There has to be, in the depths of "the ventricles of night," "the neap-tides of the frontal lobes."
Yo, chica: you see your shadow when you came out today, Sister San? How many more days of winter? Creepy parlor is good old Siggy Freud's: I ain't exactly disagreeing with your take on the old couch and accoutrement, but it do give one pause, don't it? SF would sit in the corner behind the patient's head and puff away on his cigars, read comics, admire his art pieces.
Now that you've told me this, there's definitely a dead monkey upstairs.
And snooze, too . . .
A dead monkey??? And an Igor in the basement...
Damn, Teresa: I forgot all about Igor! He's not going to be happy...
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