 |
| Sophie Robinson |
duet in darkness
1 – violent pulpy mass, pale and silvery lines
of normal life fading, the suggestive world
in postwar thirst-o-rama thrall or sting of
eyes against spine, surround me then – mark me
badly on the supraorbital bed –
2 – far from
the passive transparency of parasites
subacute feelers groping in my abdomen,
a bitter turn or sensation with several
points of pressure, I shall pamper your numbness
with extending motions of my greasy jaundiced
chest, damp heaviness of discourse weighing up
our universal meat which glints in flashlight
amelioration, weeping dialectically.
1 – & encircling our implicated impairments,
which we covet, our heritage of lovecraft’s
abstract ideals on the mantle like a wornout
star – gas & dust making us nauseous in our
excess & I long to syringe the disturbed
whites of your eyes with sugarwater, honey
running from your nose in excitement you
turn to me & vomit in a practical way,
tired of running in this trembling weather,
tongue ulcerated, rough as a cathedral wall…
2 – emotionally erect, my night-eyes are
exhausted, moans seep through in auditory
fullness, you prostrate on the grass, covered in
ants & stiff with cervical grief, a bright-yellow
coldness clinging to everything vertical in
lieu of anything happening.
1 – violent pulpy mass, pale and silvery lines
of normal life fading, the suggestive world
in postwar thirst-o-rama thrall or sting of
eyes against spine, surround me then – mark me
badly on the supraorbital bed –
2 – far from
the passive transparency of parasites
subacute feelers groping in my abdomen,
a bitter turn or sensation with several
points of pressure, I shall pamper your numbness
with extending motions of my greasy jaundiced
chest, damp heaviness of discourse weighing up
our universal meat which glints in flashlight
amelioration, weeping dialectically.
1 – & encircling our implicated impairments,
which we covet, our heritage of lovecraft’s
abstract ideals on the mantle like a wornout
star – gas & dust making us nauseous in our
excess & I long to syringe the disturbed
whites of your eyes with sugarwater, honey
running from your nose in excitement you
turn to me & vomit in a practical way,
tired of running in this trembling weather,
tongue ulcerated, rough as a cathedral wall…
2 – emotionally erect, my night-eyes are
exhausted, moans seep through in auditory
fullness, you prostrate on the grass, covered in
ants & stiff with cervical grief, a bright-yellow
coldness clinging to everything vertical in
lieu of anything happening.
© by Sophie Robinson
Es un grato placer pasar a leer
ОдговориИзбришиtus excelentes entradas.
que tengas una feliz semana.
un abrazo.