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Cold Brimstone Searing
Snow,
snow the promise of more snow revised to include more
snow. Snow white is death.
do you recognize the spirits that are magnetized to your
earthly existence?
Do you recognize the spirits that are magnetizing to your
earthen existence?
voices inside the wind--voices inside the wind? Must these days? days of trouble ain't all the same? expectorant amnesia?
go cut down that tree old man and get on the stump and talk
your bullshit.
all thE bullshits
I am tired of dementia. some kind of dementia---oh the
mystery. ainn't it bigger out there.
preamble violin blues sawing sadly serene providing
entertainment for the sunday spring afternoon picnic upon Little Loudon
Cemetery.
.....................
wrapped dark over duty---that weather bird arranged pinesap coagulation--war was and is
breathin upon its own
a grandeur strong and queasy in a sill===he beat his fists
upon the sheet metal until something almost occurs besides that rust smell
drafting thru fade purple evening
man hoots upon a green hill
cold heat of the brimstone
searing---and the heat heaving heavy with melancholy lacking wit---the lackey
of suicide urge-- SUcculent.
the body --his tombstone and the whole GOd forsaken island
sinking slowly sliding sea wave----who is speaking? who is speaking here? You cannot find the salvage of dialogue here
swaying methodically as a metronome do so.
and one day all the birds--every single bird had fur instead
of feathers.
let us have children so they shall be wounded
*the beginnings of a longer prose work
