Poetry and Other Artifacts

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The Last Ostok Variation


A portrait of angels.

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The joys of literacy are grossly underrated

lcmt

"You are but a headlong bullshark, while I am an empress of glass and loam, bifurcated and pulseless."

A line from Act 1, Scene 1 of the imaginary play, A Poltergeist Among the Pigeons by Kasumi Meilinger. The monohybrid Jamaica Maison-Virnza speaking "fair in a nonhiemal voice, stunningly comprehensible for a scorpionfish germinate."

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what can be

lcmt

This poem is no longer online. It will be included in Yeasty Peaseblossoms, Let Me Squeegee, upcoming in 2011 (or maybe 2012) from the Intaglio Galosh Studio Press.

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More planetary characters


Lost Empire Calligraphy

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Blue

lcmt

A sideways
glimpse of
heaven, where
an angel's
beauty should
be inimical,
as obdurate
as glaciers.

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Red, Once Blue

lcmt

There is no life on Mars,
no massive black silted
pipelines, no spectral vaults
of permeable membranes,
only gardens of molecules
sufficient upon reservoirs
filled with scattered handfuls
of continuity, proclaimed in
harmony, revived by discord,
communion flourished with
contrariety, dense waves of
dissolution accreted to true
halos of the edge. All that
colonized, all that surprised
the slow dominion of this
ancient planet, yielded long
ago, piked to brittle hoarstones
athwart deserts inimicable
to the dry seed of pioneers.
Or rendered into red sap
fossilized within volcanic
mountains imagineered as
venerable dragons, white
and toxic. Clusters of poor
angled bights, burred dull
with formless dust, follow
shorelines bound outwards,
accompanied by feldspar-rich
glass, witnessed by four visitors,
infants in ormolu and ebonized
steel, recently inscribed with
planetary characters, bolted
to shafting designs which twist
and turn in false spines and
flowers and thorny spurges
around a solid core, waiting
for the galaxy's end.

A sample of planetary characters, the Ursa Refrain

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Inarticulate in Certain Quarters

This bit of asemic writing might become a part of the cover design for my new book, The Wife of History and Other Planetary Characters.

Of late, I've been under the influence of asemic writing. (See: The New Post Literate) It has rendered me curiously inarticulate within certain quarters of the compass, but I have to confess, I enjoy giving way to inarticulateness. Sometimes, you just want to be a big eyeball with no mouth.

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The Morning as Promised (Driving Poem #39)

lcmt

This poem is no longer online. It will be included in Yeasty Peaseblossoms, Let Me Squeegee, upcoming in 2011 (or maybe 2012) from the Intaglio Galosh Studio Press.

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