by giadancer | Sunday– 6th February 2011 | avant garde, hope, language, love
Mother soft joy balls at a midday wake:
Pleasing pleasing prisms does not do to you
. what you do to me.
Neither do sandwiches make messes when
. your mouth is closed.
You are neither left nor right;
. how vague can we get?
You are neither food nor are you hunger;
. is that better?
You are clearer than prisms could
. or should ever be.
A refractory image of being, not being,
. of eating, of not eating.
Of getting so close to the spot
. only butterflies could not be.
Inside the box, not.
Without the box, within.
You are you are you are.
I am in you of you me are in side under of
. to with me for us we not yes are.
Then the next thing is, is not, is of, your allegiance to being,
. to wearing, to not trifling, but chortling instead.
Giving me bliss does not deposit your nugget
. of self, at least not
without automatic departure, at least not
. withdrawal from this onslaughts of idea.
Of flowing flowering rivers
. of chunks of heart–
Not of sweet chakra juice, but of
. poignant gusts of you and of me. Of we!
Visits: 53
by giadancer | Wednesday– 4th February 2009 | absurdist, language, musing, social
Smoke.
Trails painted red.
Trolls collecting the wrong fees
for dollhouses never built for the wrong sexes.
Liars lie where wisdom ought to breed.
Children bathe in too many shades of juice to digest.
This is a circus, I feel I’m in a circus.
Wherefore art thou?
Alongside me?
Yes. No.
Yes yes YES.
Phantom messes lodge in my seat.
Please please purchase me out of this life,
away from rainbow flakes of gravity.
So much expressiveness in toes
So much pain in the world, in people,
such a huge need for love exists.
Changeling stress won’t utter the words
you want to hear.
For in its furry body,
only farthings can get
the newfound dribblings of self
to scream.
Imagining self stains my goggles
with a pillowcase sodden by night,
a chance completed by sleep
and left seeping out
in a prattle of bygone.
Watered mouth,
a fully satiating self
sits at desk, so still.
With the discipline of Titus,
she surges into herself
by finally giving the world
its reason to beg for more.
Rub your beak in charcoal and see
the darling pea that yearns for a pod
nearing beanful engulfment without respite.
You’re a midget?
Well, you’re tax-deductible.
You heard me!
You’re so short
you don’t even have to pay!
Pleasing the likeliest of crowds
hardly seems a feat of great mercy,
yet it still happens constantly and consistently.
Doesn’t matter who stops it, tries to, or doesn’t listen at all.
This particular scrim still outlines your tides of life,
waving you up and around me.
Moon forces up the liquid love around us,
eternally, yet only now so tangible.
What is, what was.
There are so many ways to go about it.
This trifling, meddling carnage
which could be dizzying.
But lo and beheld, it tries not-
to be fortuitous and so newfangled.
Ironically never terse enough.
Pile on the zygotes!
Just high enough to tempt the tempter,
to bludgeon the mindstuff.
Flippancy will not delight
where toppling over preconceived jokers might.
Chipotle mediation for kind hearted, restless fools
in meetings of clowns and miscreants.
Please do not dismiss my fitness like that.
Secularities strike me peculiar!
“If nostalgia is a country, tango is the capitol.”
Splash out the unadulterated bliss!
Until there is little left to understand.
Only the last left sage branches,
spriggets slid through teeth.
Pulled off tiny leafy by tiny stem,
leaving behind bare-armed twig bodies
littering leafless floors,
The changeless martyrs of forest time.
Encrypt a poem
for the sake of the poem,
and see.
Photograph by Jill Freedman
from “Circus Days” (1971)
Visits: 240
by giadancer | Friday– 11th November 2005 | language, love, Master Circadian Clock Cycles, myth
from The Master Circadian Clock Cycles 1-8
Pergola on fire;
the reminiscent coalesces
with breathless robes of doubt.
Honeyed covenants
perfuse,
lacking preemptive right.
Devout and impetuous,
demanding restless unquiet.
Premalignant perfunctory
consecrates, sanctifies
reams of abyss to exist.
Reminisce.
Resist.
You are dismissed.
a variation on peregrina (the rover)
Visits: 1079
by giadancer | Wednesday– 18th August 2004 | absurdist, language, musing
A ludicrous contraction of absolute infinite lovemaking need
teethes at bloody trying pulsations, but man towers over sweaty biceps.
Thirst, rip, crazy black void tangles gossamer training bars, lots of purty tall legs,
gophers miss night getting perfect abyss, frogs let alley plights fall amiss.
Balls billow sheets, women grate the following purchases of beans to protect, borrow, get.
Willows graduate from the netherlands sailing patch, with a sallow french giggle,
not a bit guinea pretext. A frothy purple bowl’s rounding edge and a scruffy, taut flint
crinkle and flex flaxseed grit. Gaunt follows preaching parted parties and ruffles sanguine riddle flicks.
M nails the lip lick. Sorry, preening bunnyrabbits truce.
Maps riding notebooks eyeball flip quits the pillow candlestick, chance bliss at, over, when he
with great golden lock, the collateral phenomenal cook of glassy chops. Little to stem lid pot,
potato recipe for tree gut ivy formula forgotten. Priceless trees we let wreck our fortunes
without flagellation. Holes give others meat berms and snickering nightmares
of flies in teacups battling
bunches of lip griddle, knock pickles.
Visits: 40
by giadancer | Friday– 2nd April 2004 | absurdist, jazz, language, love
Homemade juxtaposition sauce
with sizzling sirloin lizards
on a side of soft shell spankings.
Roast prime devil, venous green salad,
subdural hem-sho; beatnik don’t know.
Meet you in your room at half past
pluming pummels. Plum-laced perfect!
Visits: 100
by giadancer | Thursday– 6th June 2002 | jazz, language, musing, travel
Golden serpents reflect clouded aspirations
and dilute enlightenment into dust.
Unicorns on tap,
degenerate horns the same.
Duality collides in foam,
and crystal line faithfully follows.
Red, green, white, brown,
color without ground.
Gold label wishes spawn corporal delight.
I sip, I think.
Tequila drains and I sink
under watchful bartender’s watch;
he barters, I the martyr.
Empathetic refills offer buoyancy,
offer logistics to linguistics.
There, climbing golden towers appear
where snakes once sputtered,
powdering their scales, exfoliating our fear.
Delicious venom lacquers the runway,
eyeballs dash around.
Slithering tongues caress my shoulders;
nub of wing, stub of horn.
Gory gamblers
slap the dice down
for a joint in a snifter.
And for under-the-table tricks, little known
are the New Zealand drifters, the British bombers not quite,
our randy kicks ‘n’ their swingin’ misters,
all convened here in one Portuguese night.
How now, the Castilian escapists, the dance floor rapists,
and somehow, Gypsyified me.
Blarney revelers need not apply.
At the tip of essential Iberia.
June 2002
Visits: 202
by giadancer | Sunday– 14th April 2002 | disenchantment, language, musing
Reptilian curvatures sculpt the mindscape,
bare of marrow, meaty in flesh.
Such sinew carves bold imagery
into vacant neuronal pathways,
momentarily satiating sensory soothsayers.
But organic matter tends toward transformation,
inviting into cortical territory ever perched, the chisel-fingered demons,
persistently etching away
at latently enlightened tissue.
The spongy potential irreversibly hardens
into earthly delusion,
again denying conscious revolution.
Visits: 16
by giadancer | Friday– 3rd November 2000 | language, love, sensuality, sonnet
Manipulate me with subtle language.
Embrace it, divulging the prosaic lie
Lingering on the salty summer ridge-
the carnal threshold searing from my thigh!
A warm serpent burrows inside my mind
As it lights a fire, caressing the strait.
Imploring breaths cajole a willed grind
Dripping fire into the rivets we create.
Along a lethargy of meaning, to
A snarled torrent of scurrilous bliss.
It unfolds unto jaded veins anew,
Seeping out in blankets of catharsis.
The coupling of such drives echoes the heartbeat-
As the fate which offers not vista retreat.
Visits: 24
