crumbled and rolled

bitter hulls 12/02/2009

Filed under: readable — paperslightertext @ 3:26 am


Let’s play a game called dangle the carrot,
called watch them eat cake.
Let’s play a game called grin and bear it,
called oh, for fuck’s sake!
Dare to repair the neck-crane
for inevitably it breaks under pond’rous
wait- we’ll call it, which weighs more? A head?

A pound of grass? A pound of ass?
Which weighs less? A pound of brass,
a pound of stress or 16 ounces of sass?
(These are questions no one dares to ask-)

No politics involved, it’s simply
a little lead which lingers on the brain-
don’t flatter yourself with romance
or your sullen greyed-out name.
It’s simply a saturnine moon dissecting the ozone
a smoke ring layer the cloud cover’s rainbow halo
a dryad-nymph, greenish silvery yew, once love-struck
bitter berries of mem’ry bled sharp red residue
& necessarily I am one, too,

that is- frosty when eschewed,
whose coping mechanisms
recall the gemini ascendant: mercurial, twinned.
Though she tosses astrology to the winds,
it’s cloudy for leonids- astronomy never wins:
hey, that’s just how the meteorites crumble,
in an ashen shower of grief. Cast it aside-
no, don’t throw the bones- declare not a single omen.

Shall we dissect the fire, sire,
though two steps ago we realized
it already smouldered? Smother it.
For it burned the midnight oil and then some,
sailing through the stratosphere,
penetrating the circular snow omen.

Tis too nebulous to constitute a few days.
I lick the danger that I like off the double-edged knife-
it takes my life to shreds, & it feels so goddamned nice.


Stand for a moment in the street
and consider the snow lion spelling
‘fearless joy’ in swirls in streetlights
stand for a moment in the road
and gaze up at the gingko, not minding the smell.
Drink them in like a heady ale, fox, for a look’s all you’ve got-
until you’d trade all your visions for a sour mouthful of grapes,
settle for a swig of that sweet, musky wine.


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