Tuche & Automaton

Monday, November 27, 2006


The ocean climbing into our already-crowded room. Sub-zero moaning in effigy of unwritten sonnets to the spectacle's last gasp. A torrent blinds them from seeing. Dread staring, moisture gathered at the hub of steamed chocolate, embryonic, based in the mists of ancient myth.

Scented nodes tried to recall particularly engaging sections of local legend to drag home with them. A hoof noiselessly shutting windows onto the desert of the real. Tanned hymns wrapped an amen to the psychedelic finally determining market values. Terror minds picked clean of their foul meat, a dancing embellishment of telepathy.

Your fingers a source of vital empathy without kneading eye-sockets. Domestic sutures renewed as warm meals served on plates of weary, rhythmic memorials to our collective ruse. Interminable violence, impoverished ladies side by side, dead before they hit the sterilized floor. Camouflage as a prolonged cadence, religious injunctions burnt at the stake, a shallow demand untallied by our privileged intimacy. Canticles dressed all in black drone on and on, permeating carpetry, baffling twists and spins of holy writ. A smooth blue with its hands stroking the curve of my bruisded ego. Sorely needed salves of healing light...

iii.53e: cryonic emotions, awakening in topsy-turvy leg meanderings that covet other people of rank. axles casually plying their stock and trade applied grease to my lost context. widely, quickly dissipating ghostly swirls spooning appeasment into rends of ideology. silver in vastness wants to be taught arcane arts, garters dancing pale thighs to stacked pairs of brine. euphoric, smoking corpses in style, all for the sake of the glorious republic. marriage off the hinges lands swollen asps of gold falling in our lap as pay-off for our complicity. diced integrity's head gone to fetch ice. fiery condor talons glowering with the loot of battle quickening. generates a bell's rush heated enough to shoot a wan dribble of thorns. aware of hopes and dreams betrayed for a smidgen more. profiteering dings topping the charts as a little man fastens acrobatics to a bullet. not arduous enough to carry rocks in my thinning blood. cartographies of immiseration sipping beer, enjoying life. we simply failed to find the secert, sullen network every time. a soft chiselling legacy heat-sensor cheats gold waltzing in its own spurious tangle.

ii.29e: shame, losing precious time. water boiling productions of diseased skin. hammering bronze furiously in tethered spaces bent over myriad gills of oak. shining a third shot saved my libido's emaciated frame of pus and bone. timing historic themes right down to pictorial rivers of molten sperm minus the lava. a morning advocate of keen-minded anarchy. nothing to regret. a passive intervention into the lunacy maelstrom scavenges frozen lungs and their itinerant jawbones. the tense visage of a million unhappy faces playing tight defensively, over and against the rook. sleep in my medicine. myopic salves devoid of agreements encrypted in their pubic phase because beauty does not necessarily birth beauty. surrender to the hunting whore. an atmosphere walking torment through iron, straddled by the frazzled card of violence. fear treating us like vermin, alluvial, hypnotic brightness falling over what we could not afford to flesh. deflection around and about. prosaic numbness shoving wetness into my brain. a dry passion i failed to reconcile earlier in the fish's objection. memories that can't be erased in a vial. inject drama into the veins of truth.

cross-posted to: Taking the Brim


At 12:25 PM, Blogger Molly Bloom said...

Rich and pulsing Robert. I always sense such an urgency in your work. A kind of throbbing frustration. Physical too. Thoughts of regret and numbing monotony in your life, interspersed with great flushes of energy and fight the good fight. With a possible muse. I love that angry mis-match in your words. Forgive me if I'm wrong.

At 9:33 PM, Anonymous loveandrage said...

nope, u aint entirely wrong, Molly :)


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