“I save my sadness
For my solitude
It’s sweeter that way
Like glassy lips’ rosy smear
On a glass of rosé wine
All the more subtle
arising kiss
To ridge she came to me
Like prophecy
A corporate
restructuring
Encased me an asexual
high
That milked my ravenous
Pregnant soul like
churning butter
Her thoughts stem
From a lightless world
Whitened atrophy
The shining road
Was a bed of feathers in
the morn
No more a numbing
logic…”*
Have thee heard? The story of the miser whom died with the
stroke of a feather?
The gust of beauty too
much his poor heart to bear, as the immense leap from an infinite possibility
to a constrained actuality downsized his ambitions to the extent of an embittered
malevolence…
The world needs another
demon. We have seen the blasé image of
advertising glorified in the timeless walls of antiquity and it has forced a
reevaluation of our pretensions. Now,
in the wake of this corporate restructuring, we need a woman whom will sweep us
off our feet into a soft darkness, in whose conception the moral stigmas of
naked existence are merely a lullaby, and she lulls us to sleep in their
inefficacy… as if a god had sent her to prevent our sleepless delirium from
being a burden to our intellect, as if she were a sip of rosé wine, and a
series of the null set. Nothing
reiterated time and time, mathematical mind bereft of material conjugation…
A theorist in whose
precept the world turns… my God… have we forced a goddess again? Or did thee notice the snake in the
grass? A goddess in the bed of leaves
coloring truth? Is the demon marooned
in love? Waiting on the winds might
sail his vessel of belief to the minds of generations… a transcendental
conditioning… the spirit globalized… no more a mere logician is a sober minded
ontology… and to the last bellow of the organs, wall to wall, it’s all about
the vision.
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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