poem: twixt good
(Artwork by Rupert Shrive)Took my face to
The Face Institute:
deconstructed it,
deep-fried it,
alphabetized it
beyond recognition:
the adenoidal collapse
of nations, justifying
the arias in my head,
a cheesebox of fulfillments
untold. Razor sharp,
this unforeseen
circumstance,
the battle twixt
good &
Orville, on the sands
of Kitty Hawk,
in post-cyclist dudgeon:
presumably we
tax our salvations
progressively,
face the consequences
later, resurrecting
the prime as she
insinuates herself
down the dotted line.
my dots were
in blue Sharpie,
I asked for blue
instead of
monastic black,
walked
I did
through streets of
leaven, the dotted
line my
wheel of fortune,
my desperate tag
of the future. Charismatic
arithmetic,
Pickwickian symmetry,
gargantuan cosmetology
erogenous paleontology -
what more can one
want? - in this
the octagonal
shrift.
Labels: Perseus
posted by murat11 at 2:48 AM
15 Comments:
So how does the "adenoidal collapse of nations justify the arias in your head"? One would think those arias came from love and light and the smell of roses in June or something.
I love your sharp cheddar in a box of fulfillments and Orville fighting the good fight at Kitty Hawk.
I also liked "tax our salvations
progressively,
face the consequences
later, resurrecting
the prime as she
insinuates herself
down the dotted line."
Those lines just kind of sing, although with your deconstructed face complete with adenoidal collapse, I'm not quite sure how...
But these were my favorites:
Charismatic
arithmetic,
Pickwickian symmetry,
gargantuan cosmetology
erogenous paleontology -
What more could one want, indeed? The erogenous paleontology just tops off the tank and makes my cup overflow. With a running over cup, how could I contain more? The cheesebox is full and the adenoids are flat, not to mention the egg being cracked...
Great work, bro.
Teresa: On the way to an evening swim yesterday, I passed a sign for The Face Institute. That, combined with earlier musings with my sister about the possibility of chicken-frying a soul, was a poem demanding to be writ. Ever the compliant (if oft indecipherable) poet, writ I did. I'm glad you liked. I thought one and all see the collapse of nations as a cause for joy (arias, at the very least). Well, maybe not the Sovereign Barony of Caux and the Republic of Molossia.
As in arias punctuated by cannonades like in the 1812 overture? I was thinking of it from the point of view of the losing civilians looking at scorched earth and bombed out shells of buildings and faced with adjusting to new overlords, learning new languages, rape, pillage and all that rot.
Or are you thinking of collapse a la Marx? When the structures of government wither away and the golden age of communism is ushered in, when all will enjoy the blessings of community property with each working according to his or her ability and receiving according to his or her need.
T: The latter, of course; the one that, in truth, has never been tried. Save maybe for the upstate Nueva York Oneida folks. That one got a little dicey on the sexual front. They were, after all, Fourier-ists.
I think Mao picked up their Mutual Criticism for his unique brand of Communism. CCP cadres since Mao's death seem to be avidly embracing the idea of Ascending Ladder for virgins, where old men initiate nubile young women into the practices of Complex Marriage, although they tend to just set the young women up in penthouses and act like sugar daddies... Of course, the Taoists from about the time of the Tang Dynasty have been practicing a form of Male Continence in their attempts to attain eternal life.
FB has ruined me... I keep looking for the Like button. Just coming by to say hello, glad to see the writing you're doing.
Teresa: I think the Taoists should follow the Oneidans and go into flatware for their immortality. Sexual orthodoxy, but silverware nonpareil.
Anno: Substitute a thumb smudge on your monitor screen for the Like button. Always good to have you drop by.
I would have chose blue, too.
Ever changing world and life, or is it?
Blogger being boggy presently: it won't let me publish this from Dee, so I will:
loved the poem and the comments! Good versus Orville buwahahah
"like" thumbprints all over the screen now :)
To which I reply: Clean up that screen of yours, sister. Glad you had some fun. Vacationing still on, yes? Good.
MizLee: Always took you for a blue one. Given your skies, no surprise there.
I like Anno's comment about FB ruining one while reading blogs searching for the Like button...beautiful art.
Good morning, Texan Vermonter (or should that be Yankee Texan?): Rupert Shrive's website is certainly worth a viewing. Hope you all are getting in some swimming. Peace to you all.
I love how your brain goes—from the face institute to a cheesebox of fulfillments to the battle twixt good and Orville to taxing salvations on through to the streets of leaven and the wheel of forturne and beyond everything to the octagonal shrift—and when I focus and follow closely its trails, I feel like Alice, and it is so very lovely bizarre.
Did I ever tell you I played Alice in a one-act play in junior high? I did. And so it is that all of this makes lovely bizarre make all the more sense : )
Hoolawd. Deus ex alista. And I didn't even get a chance to straighten up the kitchen first! Mess or no mess, you is always welcome for coffee and nibbles.
I was gonna say that I'm just the driver, can't help what Face Institutes I'm gonna drive by, but in truth I'm just the passenger (which, of course, gives me a better look-see).
To switch metaphors, the journeys are invariably Alician, no doubting that, and I am always happy that you are willing to make the lovely bizarre descent conmigo.
To your Alice confession, I will add that in the sixth grade I played the Cheshire Cat. We still are, don't you think?
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