fink555
fink555
Jun 19, 2018

No. 17251

Poem Body

"Failure, the artiste manque or the mediocre politician--they experience the real death." Sigmund Freud

The REM mirror's
bent tubes synthesized
in snake pegs
of archipelagic
ice hieroglyphs;

(hear the eglantine washerwomen
call breakfast with gold spoons)

the hierophant C-flat
spilt in a tide pod
rainbow suit worn
in a night Mass’ oval paucity.

A date unrealized
and of silt gravity,
split on all sides
by holofoil wings
of indigo aeons,

(hear the eglantine washerwomen
call breakfast with gold spoons)

where a shadow caches
spectral amber
and unseal frog eyes
hanging as cragged
dropsy jewels
in memoriam,
insect moot eyes

spilling a fog mass, lit
in small wings

burning sigils flown
in SILK embossed flags
by codex seraphics
aflame in cellular
transmogrification,

peeling a yellow horizon

of flypaper

with

domino flanked spiders,

dialing up light in the
glass toothed eyes
of the loved dead

torn cellophane angels
unfurling false teeth,
the shattering

Chinese christabel
urn

hexes, the table
having a rorschach
spill, weeping figures
traced through in baby
blue on pinched borders,

on the melodic scuttle of uranium
arachnids,

the smear of

beatified lipstick,

marigold

(here the washerwomen
stitch a message home
in the flags of plexiglass
rising from the tinfoil
king's severed wing);

humming the coral
ministries of death's
lexical glossalia.

About This Poem

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Country/Region: Albany NY

More from this author

Comments

swamp-witch

Long time no see. Not sure if you ever check Neopoet anymore, but I thought I'd find you again now that I am back.

The folkloric imagery, the repetition, the word choice, all things I missed seeing from you. I'd also love to hear some of your inspiration for this poem and an explanation of the title, if there are clear answers to those things.

Paucity and beatified are new words for me, thank you.

I can't help but think about the current state of AI, with our workshop going on. The image/"art" generating ones would have an absolute field day with prompts from lines of your poetry.

A few edits/thoughts to consider:

-Seems to be an error happening with a symbol or special character on archipelagic
ice
-SILK embossed flags --> silk in all capitals? experimental capitalization or an abbreviation?
-here the washerwomen stitch a message --> stitches

Kelsey