Friday, January 20, 2017

a crab breech

In the news today.

      the helium burning

Raft of rafflesia
yields but putrescent glimmer
for a guest

in a quondam dubious airspace
this caravan of twits yclept Carcosa
crossing the Styx twice

watch the sky
though it prove a scrim made of basalt
after all, & our effigies, of cobweb

high noon in America
not midnight a road
not sep’rate from the taiga

in days i believed quite in magic
if i could manufacture the name
or a cairn

worthy of the Black Fleet of the jive
beginning quack & ending with a quack dream
punctured clay

against names to come
whatever the shrunken wage
wall built stone by stone

pantheon done then now turn
philosophize in a beast language
till the coming-to-be of the ghost planet

whose meaning
lifts in lazy coils black over the last veldt
scrambled calendar

season & blood-interpreted rune
no-tracks snow
shining with barbed-wire grammar

waking from swevens askew
& Alfred Hitchcock holding a rook
bleak coinage

unseen rain in the dark as i sit no sun
casts this enigma
the test to divide Alcor

reach deep for some temporary faith
frail cargo
of normalcy clutched after our debacle

facebook sings its dread
& stoplights out along the way to maroon
& hands’ inertia

opens the wrong book lids wake
in the vorpal walls to follow us
faunching to

i trace out the path of a pillbug
fail to remember
the incantatory phrase

drugs might work
for some people, letting their druthers dictate
or Aldebaran red & the Hyades

Anger’s Maldoror a rooky wood
ricochets the vugg
nuggets of harm a large roach

swims the milk
of ilka brig Xanadu
refuge shore

pop-ups teeming bullets in the urn
ding! ding! so many
caterwauling recoils in the oobleck foehn

dig dense mud & the mud’s aroma
vanishes in a snarling media glare
ascian oread

cured of the con Cretan cave
Rubik cube
squandering aeon now face madness

interrogate thorn
in your gnostic turpitude’s rosy shadow
day’s fury

broken promise one by one
abacus beads in the dark
elegy no anodyne

survive is selfish
all those who go & speak against this Moloch

otherwise who cannot go or abductee
the hush of the church
buzz zebub

from here an era of iron
glowing redly as tired eyes fill gray
with the beggar’s share

of fresh slag
attend our furious skalds’ ebbing
who find no more than wisdom of the rabbit

no more than love of the pearl
or in any other time
to clutch in palm a suitable rock

if they want it’s war
more than war it’s haywire of the rain
monkey fez

preferable I’d think to a pallid cone
on an apricot javelina
masses’ opium

worse checkmate
let it haunt us freedom’s ghost
on this perfect Maremma

drained never
unless it is by angels fallen

Mark Fisher.

"Of all the prime snappy retorts in all History, this--this wins the hand-painted rolling-pin." --HarryS Keeler, The Case of the 16Beans (1944)

Guano Air Unit.



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