Tuesday, October 20, 2009
--- 'Midface' ---
I was 'this close' to dropping this blog, since the words have gotten a bit thin and the pseudostory seems to have reached an end of sorts.
But, I have decided to proceed on with a second section, paralleling all of the main words of the previous chapters with next words or near next words from a regular English dictionary. Adhering to the earlier line flow whenever possible.
Then, I hope to combine the lines of both main sections to form a third, concluding section. Sections Two and Three should both wind up with twelve chapters each. So when I hit Chapter 36, the 'book' and this blog will have concluded.
We'll see what happens.
But, I have decided to proceed on with a second section, paralleling all of the main words of the previous chapters with next words or near next words from a regular English dictionary. Adhering to the earlier line flow whenever possible.
Then, I hope to combine the lines of both main sections to form a third, concluding section. Sections Two and Three should both wind up with twelve chapters each. So when I hit Chapter 36, the 'book' and this blog will have concluded.
We'll see what happens.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
12 A Chorus of Sawhorses
Unlikely, to put right the prickly plans of accomplices from years ago.
To confiscate his wife's purple garters in the elevator full of hammocks
and lettuce heads.
To unite and compare horsehairs.
False trappings and remarkable litters sent crashing through
new, but immediately condemned masonry
in a slew of modified elevator cars.
The cursed moth-eaten relatives of the Tiger King
marched through the plaza
and into a giant rubber ball to tumbledown the clifftop.
A flash of sunlight on beach shells.
"Who's guard dog is this?"
A chorus of sawhorses in dreamed rooms.
Camels with shredded wings,
skin and cotton padding humps
covered with emollient-dipped dropcloths.
Fed up with the ill-mannered and spoiled,
To strike down the nightly electrocutions,
the Bobcat flying away on a garbage can lid.
White hairs, grey hairs
the way he always liked them.
Pyramid of paper horns.
The folding chair carved from a single palm tree.
Oh, to pick one's teeth underwater...
To confiscate his wife's purple garters in the elevator full of hammocks
and lettuce heads.
To unite and compare horsehairs.
False trappings and remarkable litters sent crashing through
new, but immediately condemned masonry
in a slew of modified elevator cars.
The cursed moth-eaten relatives of the Tiger King
marched through the plaza
and into a giant rubber ball to tumbledown the clifftop.
A flash of sunlight on beach shells.
"Who's guard dog is this?"
A chorus of sawhorses in dreamed rooms.
Camels with shredded wings,
skin and cotton padding humps
covered with emollient-dipped dropcloths.
Fed up with the ill-mannered and spoiled,
To strike down the nightly electrocutions,
the Bobcat flying away on a garbage can lid.
White hairs, grey hairs
the way he always liked them.
Pyramid of paper horns.
The folding chair carved from a single palm tree.
Oh, to pick one's teeth underwater...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
11 King Locus
So unlikely! Despite the haphazard planters in the elevator...
the prickly tortoise self-annihilated.
The formerly comatose tiger playing animal rummy in the hammock full of lettuce heads...
false wrappings, falsely prolonged, thrown away with the jugs of corn juice.
Standing on folding chairs, slack-jawed relatives in tiaras and dropcloths...
purple curses, in italics, on their backs...
Moth eaten camels in liberal lighting happily reglue...
broken phonographs.
Mounds of paper horns filled with quinine for the beleaguered masses...
pyramid of masonry buzzards hammered into shards...and shredded wings...
blowing up crates of elevator shoes.
Bobcat and foot-high scissors play out improvised strategies on a garbage can lid...
with emollients and balm bottles.
The sawhorse pencils in King Locus' white and grey hairs...
the way he always liked to draw them.
the prickly tortoise self-annihilated.
The formerly comatose tiger playing animal rummy in the hammock full of lettuce heads...
false wrappings, falsely prolonged, thrown away with the jugs of corn juice.
Standing on folding chairs, slack-jawed relatives in tiaras and dropcloths...
purple curses, in italics, on their backs...
Moth eaten camels in liberal lighting happily reglue...
broken phonographs.
Mounds of paper horns filled with quinine for the beleaguered masses...
pyramid of masonry buzzards hammered into shards...and shredded wings...
blowing up crates of elevator shoes.
Bobcat and foot-high scissors play out improvised strategies on a garbage can lid...
with emollients and balm bottles.
The sawhorse pencils in King Locus' white and grey hairs...
the way he always liked to draw them.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
10 Invalid Additions
so unlike the halting tortoise to reassimilate in the prickly sidebed
despite the comatose tiger.
playing cards in the hammock of false horns.
lettuce in quinine. thrown away gauze wrappings.
prolonged use of emollients on tiara'd purple butts.
on uniform dropcloths, stand
uncounted folding chairs, each with painted cursive backs
restating the italicized will, word by word.
foot high mounds of uncooked corn.
camel sawing phonograph into rough edged pieces;
penciling in invalid additions.
despite the comatose tiger.
playing cards in the hammock of false horns.
lettuce in quinine. thrown away gauze wrappings.
prolonged use of emollients on tiara'd purple butts.
on uniform dropcloths, stand
uncounted folding chairs, each with painted cursive backs
restating the italicized will, word by word.
foot high mounds of uncooked corn.
camel sawing phonograph into rough edged pieces;
penciling in invalid additions.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
9 When the Cornfield Camels Cut
three minutes to annihilate the prickly bedside rabble...
the butt with horns crossing the defective parking lot...
tiaras left on heads of lettuce...quinine in thermos bottles...
dark purple 'laughables' prolong the scoffing.
comatose tiger king, 'Papa Locus', wrapped in gauze
and dipped in yogurt, in a throwaway attempt...
the night is still, to a degree.
a series of accomplices under the guise of
garter-covered party goers
saw up the clifftop commando 'barriers'.
many miles away, in afternoon sun,
cornfield camels sitting in caneback chairs
cut up puzzle pieces to old phonograph music.
candles and corncobs piled across folding chairs
in a hammock of used nooses.
an unalloyed wave of the same mockery as before.
the butt with horns crossing the defective parking lot...
tiaras left on heads of lettuce...quinine in thermos bottles...
dark purple 'laughables' prolong the scoffing.
comatose tiger king, 'Papa Locus', wrapped in gauze
and dipped in yogurt, in a throwaway attempt...
the night is still, to a degree.
a series of accomplices under the guise of
garter-covered party goers
saw up the clifftop commando 'barriers'.
many miles away, in afternoon sun,
cornfield camels sitting in caneback chairs
cut up puzzle pieces to old phonograph music.
candles and corncobs piled across folding chairs
in a hammock of used nooses.
an unalloyed wave of the same mockery as before.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
8 A Smear of Nothing
three minutes to parlay in the bedside elevator.
to decide to cross the dockyard rabble
passing out defective thermos bottles and
tacky tiaras.
still a degree of noise for quinine and lettuce.
manager's big toe wrapped in gauze
and dipped in a yogurt cup.
comatose, on the extension, in a throwaway gesture.
candles on top of sawhorses...light up the clifftop barriers.
commando squad of eleven
climbing up from the reef
to execute from behind.
Respectfully add a smear of nothing.
Mockery from the man with the corncob complexion.
to decide to cross the dockyard rabble
passing out defective thermos bottles and
tacky tiaras.
still a degree of noise for quinine and lettuce.
manager's big toe wrapped in gauze
and dipped in a yogurt cup.
comatose, on the extension, in a throwaway gesture.
candles on top of sawhorses...light up the clifftop barriers.
commando squad of eleven
climbing up from the reef
to execute from behind.
Respectfully add a smear of nothing.
Mockery from the man with the corncob complexion.
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