NEIGE [THREE SCENES]
1.
aimless
animal-coloured tumbler your library’s aphotically indeterminate
you
morning the ground to groggier-than-usual’s millions of earmarks;
there
are no students eternal only stop signs to bark commands rufescent,
only
stalléd cirri shelves and shelves of them bustling ether of nowhere
only
my eyes no millions of other watchers imprecise tumbler heft spills
from
the seat of god onto our laps a necklace to be untangled with bones
and a
half-erased script and stumps for motivations, ut pictura cirrus this’s
all
that comes to mind Latin for curl of hair thus the portrait of a girl who’s
blanched
perhaps she’s suffered, perhaps she’s been spooked, likely in love.
2.
in
love and staring out a window ut drizzle poesis, so goeth poetry as drizzle,
lovers’
crazy ideas of where their object went the evening before, before snow
tumbled
before her eyes saw the result of the katabatic front. Ut drizzle poesis,
long
gray nuance between stanzas the meander from cup of tea to the next one,
snow’s
meanwhile abstraction an easy metaphor for the week. Young woman
in
love as you are please, do not comb your hair—I see you motion for a brush
through
the window I watch and clasp myself, do not to the narrative of dawn
surrender,
stay wild and pained and look that way. This is not mere entertainment.
Snow
tumbles aimless, accretes aphotic my gaze though is fixed upon you.
3.
such
sentimental passages about love, weather and fixéd male gazes hunter
as he
is, supposedly, of erotic experience wherever to be found. I’m stupid
like
dander, or clover. I transcend no fence reach no apple bough. Limitless
are
other poetries of the engines, of the random, of the idiomatic, of the
popunders
and
overt flâneurist grit-amenities. I wear a poem like this like, say,
a dead
braid or a last match, bit of its tip scratched off, the thing useless for
cigarette
to say nothing of survival or bonfire at the beach where the talk’s
of sex
and nothing but sex. A deadened band of cirrus is known to haunt us
at our
windows the girl and I like snapped taper candles, outside the snows.
No comments:
Post a Comment