S is for Schwa
There’s no need to plan for another pile of cars on the
freeway. If there is blood & bone then there is karma.
Delirious moments, arrive together! Having the texture of
down, gravity becomes an apparatus for splitting words
& redistributing them as multiple choice tests. Check
dialogue box & determine whether the beard remains
awake. Like two rotating orbs, the girl’s eyes twirl in their
sockets & avoid the light of day. Once she arrives the whole
world gathers inward momentum. Inward momentum,
is the simple gesture of two lips recurring in a paired
unit. There is the sound & then there is the representation
of the sound. March violence. Without proper identification
papers how can we mimic the peculiar fulcrum of the
beehive? What is one to do, the reader craves the surface
of the moon, not downward angles & planes of simulation.
I dunno. Where it starts is where it ends. Entwined with
soft lashes & battened by howling winds. No wonder
forecasters place their faith in the songs of the thrush
family. No wonder a sherpa agrees to deliver us to this
furtive canyon. As for the girl, she pokes through the
lid of conscious perception to reveal the appellative nature
of image & desire. Mercy, here comes the mullet now. If not
for the apotheosis of nickel acetate would we still cling to the
water underneath this bridge? What happens when the spiral
shaped tube on which we view the ritual of our death is not
in the shape of a spiral? Will we still destroy everything to avoid
phonetic transcription? It’s the same whether it’s the same or not.
| Craig Foltz |
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