two profiles

Tags

2016, 5*, balcony, being, chair, eyes, face, feet, hair, legs, Lewes, library, mouth, neck, passing, pen, portrait, reading, skyline, step, study

                two profiles

                reading – backdrop of cascade swept back across neck
                line from thinned mouth to pen to poise to foot on
                chair leg to foot step to ground …

                    step past un-laced shoe bounce girder-sprung
                                                            balcony,
                                                    no,
                                          forgot
                                    some
                    thing, got it now, settling down to reception

                studying – cascade over both shoulders crescent face
                with hood eyes and smirky mouth, counter-recline
                of neck to body to outstretch legs crossed at boot

                tinkling the laptop awhile with open-mouthed
                tentation hidden by the handbag, skylined by flask

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: ‘still …’
eyes & mouth wormhole: looking ahead
face wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?
feet wormhole: when the rain has settled / the dust
hair wormhole: Batgirl –
Lewes wormhole: reating & wriding
library wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
passing wormhole: “I need help”
reading wormhole: for / the first time
skyline wormhole: river

 

the writing’s on the wall

Tags

2012, beauty, being, blindness, breath, creativity, doing, groundlessness, hope, Howl, identity, inertia, letting go, looking, memory, pen, penance, pointlessness, powerlessness, publishing, seeing, self-doubt, sitting, superhero, talking to myself, universe, vindication, walls, waltz, writing

 

 

 

                                the writing’s on the wall

                                I can be becoming lost for weeks
                                unable to release, foiled in creativity
                                even by my breath; unable to waltz

                                or twirl about as I promise myself
                                held by the very wall that materialises
                                precisely where I thought to move

                                again; because there is something
                                closer than my retinas which I cannot see,
                I cannot see

                                because I am hanging on to a
                                last shred of dignity that makes me
                                blind that I cannot see the walls

                                at my toe before I swing my
                                foot to kick and I cannot see the walls
                                in my cranium before I blink

                                              so
                                              little
                                              beauty

                                to stumble over, stood in inertia
                                no matter how busy I become
                                no matter how much I do

                                without looking; (it’s the writing
                                (no it’s the tidal lunge for vindication,
                                 (no it’s the reminder, the reinforcement

                                  that I am powerless))) in a pointless universe
                                in which I still want to be the hero
                                brandishing the latest sheaf of sublimity

                                (even if not on the rooftops waving
                                 my genitals – see, see) so what do I do,
                                do I stop it all now and snap out of it

                                do I make myself sit for hours of
                                balming penance, do I slap my wrists
                                for wanting to publish; no, Mark,

                                              here’s a pen and
                                              here’s the line and
                                              here’s the wall to write on

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

beauty & being & doing wormhole: while walking
breath wormhole: miss / ad / venture – poewieview #22
creativity & walls wormhole: and that’s where I are
groundlessness wormhole: Dear Sir/Madam,
identity wormhole: 1968
letting go wormhole: tong len / the inauguration of another – timely – butter fly effect / taking and giving
looking & writing wormhole: impressionism
pointlessness wormhole: development
publishing wormhole: time proceeds
seeing wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
sitting wormhole: well,
superhero wormhole: no point
talking to myself wormhole: dream career // groggy
vindication woormhole: thy will be done

 

Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20

Tags

2016, abundance, atrophy, bitterness, Bowie, city, cross, curtains, decay, defeat, dockside, earth, gods, hatch, horizon, humanity, love, mortality, mountain, opening, pen, piles, plane, portal, privacy, rage, reverse, river, ruler, sphere, step, tears, wanting, waves

                                reverse
                of usual effulgent horizons opening like shallow waves
                                              logarithmically
                                wanting
                fall-to-knees mortality and tears over abundance, equally
                                              untenable
                                              atrophic

                                stepped to the earth
                                from the mountains
                                a god stood like a man

                                down by the docks, by
                                the piles, while a city grew
                                and festered all about

                                the river: hatch and cross,
                                pen and ruler, private
                                and bitter, sphere and

                                plane, all with woven
                                curtain pulled, defeated,
                                across every portal, and

                                no room for Quiver of
                                Tiffany, only a rage that
                                I cannot control, after all

 

through the lonely portals of The Supermen, 1970; Saviour Machine, 1970; Running Gun Blues, 1970

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Bowie wormhole: my // shell – poewieview #19
city wormhole: gotcha
curtains wormhole: the art of sit and follow
horizon wormhole: stacked
love wormhole: where the goblins leered – poewieview #14
river wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
tears wormhole: dear clown’s face
waves wormhole: thick thick fog