Thursday, March 18, 2010

one word knee-high: grape

fate's thin guise

crude huts sloping

ventricles of night


gravity's rainbow kissed,



in the dreaming mist

of eventide,

the ebb's missed


timing the verities,


the neap-tides

of the frontal lobes:


on the couch,

hissing vigilance,

the Doktor in her


april's canneries

blown by Santa Anas

no ghost could

ever know.



Blogger Teresa said...

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?

5:14 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

I'll take the tesseracting, Sister - otherwise, we're completely out the grapevine . . .

5:17 PM  
Blogger San said...

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."

6:49 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

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.

9:08 PM  
Blogger San said...

Now that you've told me this, there's definitely a dead monkey upstairs.

9:43 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

And snooze, too . . .

1:43 PM  
Blogger Teresa said...

A dead monkey??? And an Igor in the basement...

1:44 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Damn, Teresa: I forgot all about Igor! He's not going to be happy...

2:30 PM  

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