(via)
"The Three Stigmata of Donald Trump"
"...As though by some great shock
The earth should to its very centre yawn,
And all the infernal world and pallid realms
Hateful to gods disclosed, and from above
The drear abyss unbared, within whose deeps
The trembling ghosts shrink from the light let in..."
--Cranch's Virgil, VIII.
1.
diet of consequences
a bad smell from the drain
nine years in flight
growing nearer to a miracle
fathoms
into
like a story i went back to
& rewrote with me in it
2.
in this passage to PLUTO
the maze subLUNAR
dusky fathoms to UNTIE
burning on the last TAIGA
my wood & my OREAD
3.
without he have diamonds to begin
gossamer meringue
a complicated hour
after some simple ones
this is a slope i can take
merging
with the eye-filled walls
4.
40 billion miles
& it still runs
this old machine
blue letters
on a red background
shameless
in the latter days of the law
towers lost in haze
the antelucan darg
for spells & then the bus ride
lipitor dero
a taste
for certain shades of olive
training
over the same spot
puzzle at
verbal fossils
the moon that never leaves the sky
when the left lane is filled
till it blocks the lane through
scraps & shards
i'd gather while out on a walk
sourceless cooking smells
was this the hill
where a premonition saved my life
the winding path
a labyrinth not a maze
destined encounter
a dragonfly changes course
as if invisibly jerked
5.
breakdown
of my own repairs
halcyon
hour after sunrise
in the wildwood
groves
hard creatures
for a harsh land
no one will brake for you
dark spectrum
alien rehab
spraypaint stencil sign
sleepy fox
with oversize ears
my geometry
is not your geometry
bring aluminum jackets back
6.
a dark place for the magic to work
reign of dying children
the line won't wait for me
already at nine it's steaming
the old songs
withhold comment
& Pluto's visage clearer
than ever
except when we would dream
on our winding street in shade
the flags not taken down
people out walking or jogging
as i hit the final stretch
i look out for rabbits
7.
slimeroad
crystal fire trail
cylindrical wedge
a slight lapse in attention
delivers you
to the mossy brink
monochrome landscape
warring dualities barrage
with angry words
like pinwheels of light
burrowing inward
8.
mad coffee scientist
& the radio mutters
& the tyres sing
what have i done today
halcyon muggy morn
collate textures
construct no meaning
put the shift into neutral to rest
& plan
to print a big portrait of pluto
when it gets here
9.
sword of pestilence
the three luminous stigmata
of donald hairpiece trump
come to hover
like an odilon redon eye
in the air over gotham city
elexia jebidà
pour les nuls
more images of elephants
than actual elephants
a ratio
that will only increase with time
burning the engrams
remembered
in the stones of mala strana
10.
back-lit spray
pale at the side of the road
i come closer
see sep'rate sprinklers
stub of a conversation today
about face blindness
flits through my mind
11.
kerb much hems her revs
hypatia
at the edge of the dog days
in the novel by kingsley
learning how
i thread my way
12.
under the sign of pluto
close-up photos of the storm
sweating in the backroom
a/c of little avail
no more fantasy saviors
only guns, plus the willingness to use them
nil klingon ill
nitrogen ice-rimmed craters
we were all more optimistic then
13.
more than phantom world
in the tutelary dark
a very long time
we bring you our underworld
on bastille day · our dark names
(via)
"We’ve never had an opportunity to observe what really happens during winter on Pluto because it was springtime on the icy world when it was discovered in 1930."
Labels: #cthulhucene, #pluto