Schumann Violin Concerto A lunacy that ate his earsSchumann Violin Concerto by ~Germanicus2
Anxious and striving
More than the rape in the 9th
Incomplete
Even the corners were heard
Sounds lifted from Endenich
Like the grass shutters on their pink houses
Or the harmonic voices
Fusing uncontrolled
Improper registers
Thus all chiaroscuro
A death masque
persia gold-scraped werepersia by ~Germanicus2
scythian silhouettes
tall steppes
all the ash mounds
and the wet tin
pens for hoopoe birds
moist green insect wings
a white darkness
torn achaeminid scripts
here
silver-blanched
and the iron smell
blue clots on the flowers
cineraria
paradise
cloistered pomegranates
spilling east
with tiny white fingers
kushti about the earth
Untitled It is hard to spy on the cell,Untitled by ~Germanicus2
though its city walls are molten margarine
whose gaping doors tremble at lightening.
I have sent my best man for the job;
he sneaks in with the outsiders.
They are ripped into pieces but
he plays dead among the heaps of corpses.
In the final acid chambers,
my man escapes and infiltrates the birthing machine.
There, the jellyfish lights are attached
to select newborns, sleeper cells
for my network of espionage.
Under the ultraviolet, they show me
the cell is a collapsed city
saturated with car crashes and house shearing.
Beneath the wavelength of light,
its crowded denizens jo
Old Ways Brown coinOld Ways by ~Germanicus2
token of my craft
remember when fortune telling was in the blank
spaces between the stars and the flight of roving
birds blind to the ground swells on the map
the entrails housing kidneys spoke dark
inarticulate marvels
their inches of flesh were rich
as calculus of sand
we once traced figures on tortoise shells
with ice and burned the stone
fat out of dragon bones
all to deliver winter rites
yet these secrets piled with the yarrow
stalks and tumbled into chance lines
clean of blood or art
but corrupted by memory
so that even you
brown coin
can draw patterns
from falling
Sta.sh
--
et puis, et puis encore?
--
| MIMESIS |
--
I hung on that windy tree for nine nights wounded by my own spear.
I hung to that tree, and no one knows where it is rooted.
None gave me food. None gave me drink. Into the abyss I stared
until I spied the runes. I seized them up and, howling, fell
(:
--
| MIMESIS |
--
I hung on that windy tree for nine nights wounded by my own spear.
I hung to that tree, and no one knows where it is rooted.
None gave me food. None gave me drink. Into the abyss I stared
until I spied the runes. I seized them up and, howling, fell
--
#transliterations & #CRLiterature | Poetry Editor @ Voiceworks Magazine
--
I hung on that windy tree for nine nights wounded by my own spear.
I hung to that tree, and no one knows where it is rooted.
None gave me food. None gave me drink. Into the abyss I stared
until I spied the runes. I seized them up and, howling, fell