em i lyc ri tc h ley
5poem s
Cambridge L=O=V=E poem Where L=O=V=E* happens & it was right around there wasn’t it, on the beaten track. Head north; sit across different isobars frm each other; that is, piled over another, pick at sticky moth cum out of exhausted air only to find that bites back where the subtext just most isn’t required. Impossibility of progression is right! Holepunching the side you least like shows up 3 or 4 of yr own I’m not crazy about; aren’t pulled for tricks, or funny concertina decoration just – a nerve snaps somewhere out – we all hear the thread holding this fragile, spinning the room. That is to say drowning in L=O=V=E all over-the-top of no-man’s L=O=V=E for what fucking point isn’t. Try to reason, it’s like a poem: willingly suspended (judgment) in mid air till you get to really know it, then, if you still want to blow yr brains out…
*Coinage by Jasmine Rosenbloom
Precept upon precept; line upon line: here a little, and there a little What was it we used to like doing being vain, vexatious & overmuch? Sing into our fishhearts littel remedies for stings & other jelly moulds? Bring out my replacement! Set her onto the tablet. Curve that roughly her chiseled jaw – but don’t hurt her as you’ve done me, no, try not to do that.
The conception of the event after the event runs slowly thru the cloud cover Affection makes you false! In animals: Wait...A third ram runs out of the woods and mates with the female while the two males are fighting. Notice the ideal pattern coloured by that young stag’s fur. I doubt a stag can even fawn past intellection. Let’s go all out & test it with the Compass Game. As in: direction? Right! You have found approximately the number x, i.e. the value of yr valediction against fucking. Wait, you called plainly ? Wrong! This would give you the conversion of x into y. This operation’s carried out on carnal lines & not poetic ones! Ambivalence is NOT SEXY. Yes, there’s a sign to drive the maidens back against the trees of forests, yes, to cut off – Whatever! The playing distance rules: Drop all the sticks. See how many you can find. Look particularly in the bushes. A bird in 1 hand, etc.
Nothing about love (for Timothy Thornton) There is duck tape round Everything It looks Wack It must be a memory Of o/ r even inching for the rim On good taste The lead-in syllables, collectively, The full measure Melismatic Countenance Of good tasting Or locate your gills You will be ever more & so Where citadels coat wax & We are burnt licking of that I am very happy now: ever more Back against the rack Set yr alarum To turn on charm like Tungsten against the flame Lick that Dance around Sleep on, ah sleep All laden – Out to a journey’s zero hour Up the walls of fortItude or No come on, spit it up We know how it fucking hurts You’ve just got to admit that it fucking hurts If you just admit it fucking hurts we’ll either let you Go/ oose step To a fire exit Where the untouched stick of you Slaps A baton round Her skull We’ll send a rope down To it Measures what thinking You’ve had to expunge The sight of It Will shave 3 seconds off the Or
-dinary tincture The prelude to wax Or slap yr knuckles gainst the chrome Of it The crackly walls It rubs of it Frwards Back the metronome Yre that fish outside fluid All in a happy torture soup It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little nice would it Just into the camera while we pretend you’re a little nice & Sick it up out you Into the bowl of dried Plaster Over The hurt all you like It’s timed to self-descry On exiting Or any way you want to Lick to the floor You can never fall it Try all you like.
After Eleni Sikelianos' 'Bluebottle flies, blue light' A swallow with a bluebottle in its beak / Bumping each time into the same bit of window. That’s how come the woman knew / She must be fucking dumb.