pencil me in.

Dec 17, 2004 02:01

this was written for me by bryan. i of course immediately fell in love with it. the use of imagery still gives me chills when i read it. so i figured i'd share it with you all.

Saturn croons at dawn.

Twilight of the eyes, nocturnal
Words, surging forth on a voracious river
Lapping at the forgotten faces of petrified mountains
Words poured lovingly into the manacle lock of an inward oblivion
To the deep and rooted, absolved,
And washed, under the rain of gravity
Washed clean of the sterility, of painful indifference
and manic desolation,
humility falls to your feet, and gods, behind serpents, will snake,
Will coil, poised and venomous, and at your ankles, will pant
will proliferate like fruitless willows,
weeping as widows weep, with tears polluted of bereavement,
With all the quiet ferocity in the song of silence.

The sun is bursting with citrus!
On high, above the eternally blonde field!
Whilst the decorous feathered scythes do swing
Preening the gravid, rustling wisps of spring
And underground, the flint kept sharp and keen,
made ready for the shovels, with songs to sing
Anthems for the doe and its cloven struggle with the powdered snow
And eulogies that lyrically double over upon the harp
Upon wild, thirst-stricken, hearts
And young Prometheus spumes like a fountain
When he spews forth meteors from his
Cosmic, fragmented eyes,
And amidst carnations, will prepare for death
Untroubled carnations, opening like eruptions of harmonic serenity,
As vast as the soundlessness of supernovas, and with despair
so deeply profound, and as pitiful as
when the neutered bell does sway

Harvest month throbs under the fluorescent rings of Saturn
His throne of oysters,
His cumulous belt and crown of bees
Children, aimless but for their magnetic fascination,
Wander hither and thither, trudging legless through the molasses,
in the night, hypnotically, and barefooted, treading atop the internal hearth
Of the violet desert dune,
Fortune seekers seething, secret hiders seeking
Mystery and her painted canyons,
Feminine mystery with her veil of shapeless objects
And her sharp feline eye,
And her brash sword of walrus tusk
And her narrow gazelle that strolls gently through,
The immensity of the arches without key
And above all, comets with reigns of dust pull
the celestial night over the huddled utterances
The ruby red-ants that teem from the mouths of the scientists
and the alchemists, and the voodoo priestesses
That clip the wings of bewildered fish
Reveling, their succulent jealousies collapse with laughter,
And drawn, the many, by her light, these chatterboxes,
with ears that sprout only persimmons
will traverse your motherly land
Tailed with the incandescent ink of dusk
digesting their footprints beneath their tallest shadows

Dawn is brought now, in her apollonian chariot
To shape the silhouette in the silo,
that Saturn wildly craves in his bloated heart
That bloody, emotional sameness that haunts lustrous poets,
Wide warriors, and miserable kings,
feeding them into the foaming mouth of insanity
Where pyramids and pantheons strain to quell
the overwhelming hunger for the constellational fruit
And to regress to line the velvet womb where the twilight blooms,
Where, before your azure soul, it pools
Unseen, through the opacity of your window that
Is as solemn as the waning song of the sick,
syringed into the vacuous veins of death
Death bellowing like an infinite mule,
And death, echoing in the complex sweetness of desperation
That coats the internal walls of the impassioned soul
like a cathedral mural, spreading
with amoebic ecstasy

Let the gulls wash from whence, in refuge, they sought
The soothing moors,
Wailing grievances, upon the concrete shores spackled with termination
And in the heavy tasting fruits digesting the sun
That perch on the anchored trees, that, by their torsos, will bend
Will split like winter lips, will remain
Like futilely enduring servants, like an imprisoned well of water
Blossoming and shedding
And shedding and shedding
But still, boys will meet boys and dance till the embers are silent
and glacial
And shout to awaken ashen souls under decadent, half eaten moon
And still, girls will spin on tip-toe, will wear a fierce innocence
threaded through with the calm fragrance of naivety
While gathering nuptial florets to weave into their tresses
And laurels rain down, down into the conscience
Sliding down the waxen lily backs of petals and gathering in the lashes
Cementing them closed like a forgotten tomb,
or opened wide and wild like an anemone,
That gasps under saltine sounds
as it gathers and drowns under the fermenting honey of youth
The oceanic milk of clarity
Where the physical statue of dawn leaps and looms
Along my periphery
And over my mind
That is innocent with sleep
And thick with the leavening of dreams

Twilight of the eyes
The flux of arms that wrap the night with fibrous ropes of light
Where the gilded rhythm of the wind sounds
In the origin of cotton and gold
As the autumn tragedy whistles thoughtfully, for us
For the leaves that show us such a mournful exuberance
Dancing restlessly, with the swift eloquence of a swan
The final dance of dreary Saturn, who must dwell in the deep merlot of sleep
To the velvet womb where twilight will again bloom
Dreaming of your filamentary radiant hair
and your flint tongue that ignites the morning
Tearing through the nocturnal dim with the wind
that yaws like a mare over anxious shrubs
along the swaggering walls
that swathe through pulsating and peopled cities
Like vertebrae, like great spatial trains
And call me youth, name and face,
And I will be youth, with swift, neurotic blade
That houses the vitality of a fledgling phoenix
Reducing the rolling hills of moss to fertile flats
Striking at the atmospheric blue of the sky,
A sky nourished of every secret sea,
Every contemplative lake,
And ever temporal tear
And where the vibrant birds snatch the tongues of mariners
That are born to bathe in these voracious rivers
That cannot be subdued, that cannot be calmed
That cannot be cleansed of the afterbirth of humanity
Eras of prosperity will toll
after the hydrogen novas chime silently rolls,
To awaken sleepless winter
from its cold and lunar palace
Where you lie in wait for me as a satellite
And will remain surveying
All rivers meandering, all serpents hissing
All willows dusting the sky, all children expanding
All carnations fragrant, all bells raucous
All of Saturn’s moons, burning intensely through the
Sullen ashes of the promethean fire,
Calmly gleaming beneath your brow.

oh and another reminder the party is saturday, school is out the fuck, and well i gave up sleep. you can sleep when you're dead.
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