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Array
(
[sid] => 133633
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Chatter of flowers and knives (Brecolage for Natalie)
[time] => 2007-04-19 09:17:35
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => 1.Reflexive alabaster flesh as boiled albumin Pitched tent- taught over rock-candy bones An orbit where fingertips divined the fruits of chemistry Electricity, the tiny tumuli a trodden grave's shiver makes in thousands An erotica braille novel read with papillae Though unlike the teeth of music boxes The friction of that action noteless, silent as the mind's De Marque where she comes back in fractions; red white red white red white beautiful mouth cupping its cool darkness like the sweet deep garnet throats of the Hibiscus, cracking open with the glamorous suprises of agate eggs, laughter bursting into the air like white birds, hair slinking through my fingers blackly as the blood of hitchcock's cinema, Such vivid, haunting flowers. 2. Once I saw you, lover In pinkest Air Ascending on black Balloon bunched Cloud and through A flock of valentine Arc red pop hearts Carried on wings Of bluebirds That can never, Never, Never Be found in any square anywhere. 3. The stringencies of stars she felt like the moon, that massive ethereal brevity, once catching our fate in some cosmic surplus, some spent pleiades last flung vigilante suicidal romantic as it sped dripping and burning the legacies of pyrotechnics, fleeting imago peridot quicksilver the blackness swallowed out of nowhere. Be sad. Be sad about some of the things that are here in this last strophe, our metaphor. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 487 [topic] => 22 [informant] => neo-theatre [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove )
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