fandango of shivering owls., souse of swords of evil-omened polyps I scouring – brush of hairs from priests’ tonsures standing naked in the middle of the frying-pan – placed upon the ice cream cone of codfish fried in the scabs of his lead-ox heart – his mouth full of the chinch-bug jelly of his words – sleigh bells of the plate of snails braiding guts –little finger In erection neither grape nor fig”–commedia dell’arte of poor weaving and dyeing of clouds -“beauty creams from the garbage wagon – rape of maids in tears and in snivels ..- on his shoulder the shroud stuffed with sausages and mouths – rage distorting the outline of the shadow which flogs his teeth driven in the sand and the horse open Wide to the sun which reads it to the flies that stitch to the knots of the net full of anchovies, the sky-rocket of lilies – torch of lice where the dog is knot of rats and hiding-place of the palace of old rags – the banners which fry in the pan writhe in the black of the ink-sauce shed in the drops of blood which shoot him – the street rises to the clouds tied by its feet to the sea of wax which rots its entrails and the veil which covers it sings and dances wild with pain ~ the flight of fishing rods and the alhigui alhigui of the first-class burial of the moving van – the broken wings rolling upon the spider’s web of dry bread and clear water of the paella of sugar and velvet which the lash paints upon his cheeks -the light covers its eyes before the mirror which apes it and the nougat bar of the flames bites its lips at .the wound – cries of children, cries of women, cries of birds, cries of flowers, cries of timbers, and of stones, cries of bricks, cries of furniture, of beds, of chairs, of curtains, of pots, of cats, and of papers, cries of odors which claw at one another, cries of smoke pricking the shoulder of the cries which stew in the cauldron and of the rain of birds which inundates the sea which gnaws the bone and breaks its teeth biting the cotton wool which the sun mops up from the plate which the purse and the pocket hide in the print which the foot leaves in the rock.
Published by Keys2Change
Welcome. First impressions are the KEY to any type of relationship, or so they say (whoever "they" really are). This is why this blog is here, illuminated in teeny tiny pixels on your computer screen. To change, is a verb but, I'd like for us to use the verb as a noun; a viable object that can be wielded against the doors of natural human hesitation. The KEY to minds, hearts, and the culture of our time. If you're willing then so am I. There will be rough spots here and there where only stories, rants, metaphors, and moments of doubt can get us through. I'm ready. Are you? View all posts by Keys2Change