Summon the devil’s advocate
Trilling the pronunciation of arrogance
Across the treble throbbing a lust
Resounding in thy temple
A pounding thrust
Sleepless dawn
A bellowing
Dance with the bells
At the morning star arising
O’er the doll house of God
An ecstasy in the shattered church of industry
A Roman Catholic materialism
The haunts of the angels incarnate
In the glass and concrete rises
Disrobed in a legalese
Stirring thy emotions
To perch on the vault of perfection
Like a gymnast on the bar
The grip of the divinity was throbbing in thy temples
Enveloping what silence had achieved
The quiet change of hues
A chameleon’s enlightenment
Perched yes on an iron stake
A solid hold for the peaceful samurai
Staving off the watchful eyes of the jungle
In the moral glass of pretension
The gestured airs of intellectual class
Fallow in the contrivance of thy etiquette
The poise of a swan’s necking
At the craving for the sinews of the kill
Sunken teeth the limp tendons
The blood that gives you all you wear
In such devilish apprehension
Groomed like poodles let to the forest of mind
The wild of contemporary cutlery
Such organization of human strain
In corporate reflection
The antagonist to freedom
Yes corporate culture is the antagonist
By which we are obliged to create discreetly
Parva stella,
Your absence fed my fortitude
Raised the walls of my joyous shallow
Now in the summer you might find me smiling
’Las the cold would I to stay in
Huddled and alone
That no one could wonder
Why I wouldn’t stop to say hello
And that my skin would not flake and dry
From all the aimless wind
Shaking the dead bolted doors
Off their shabby hinges
Letting in the sun
Remember it is silence changes hues
For the chameleons and their blessed
Fulfillment of the manic retention
Would hold us to our cross
And wary introspection
Would keep us to the jungle thick
Forging step by delicate step
And aware of the jaded eyes in the shadows
Going nowhere yet peeling off the skin
Of thy fresh pressed historicity
Leaving nothing to sustain
The moisture of thy sexuality
Which sharpens thy pose
Straight back
And the curving of the spine
To the clitoral trills of the violin
Like the craning of the swan’s neck
Having feasted on the fox
An elegance wrought with cunning
Dancing on the stand of night
Yes to moisten the thoughts of mourning
Bring tears to the lost wilderness
Displayed at its death an object of intrigue
Of lusting
Splayed like some aging aesthetic
Still wandering alone
In the forests of its home
Doomed to be forgotten
Even by the Son
In all His divine preeminence
Sleep ragged lust and wild
You’ll need your reserves
For your crucifixion in the gallery
A painting décor on the walls
Of some historic preservation
To grant the chameleon its emptiness
Disrobe thy absent spirit
Of its hooded etiquette
And breathe in heavy anticipation
Stroking and stroking the abyss
Waiting on its ecstasy
The sun fell true
Upon the colours myriad
Muchas gracias por la inspiración, Cara DeAngelis, her exhibition, Wildlife in the Post-Natural Age, at the Williamsburg Art & Historical Center, September 7th - October 14th, 2012, www.caradeangelis.com
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
No comments:
Post a Comment