Dirty Gerty's Hurdy Gurdy


Only the poem knows what's true

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Texts and Blank Verse Notations

To be unborn,  I must not grieve, the death I cannot posture. What sustains me also deprecates; I am intrinsic not to be, what I can't imagine. The nuance of beauty- to conflict form- as if to goad its absence- to seclude an intuition-when nothing is unmade. That wind and rain and blood and sleep, fall beneath their shadows, I only wake what cannot stir.  The supposition is never so much , that death exceeds what it condemns; the silken rose- its ministry- not to wake the moon; the lily absorbed, that every garden, wake its infancy; I commit strength, no less opposed, to hide what it conceals; am I Aeolian to be transferred, when the wind forgets to bury me? Art transforms its instinct- that even death and beauty- cannot be consumed; no symbol is unheard,  that I forget to be, an elegy too woken, not to mimic grief.

The instinct of beauty, when even death, cannot be consumed.      Dagon Anais The First
I am the covet of a ghost, undreamed but not to mimic death, when nothing else expires. There is no womb to contend. An asp consumes its echo: the Edenic pallor of a garden, too small to hide my mouth.  A rose neglects its shadow, to break my sacrament. The lavender is acrid- as any pall- postured not to wake. And still without a tether, the moon forgets to sleep. Its shrift is no less fetal, not to keep me here. I cannot be unborn, to undulate its quarry. The tidal shift of pools-sequestered that I be- the prison of their lava, the crystal of its
mirror, the shrapnel that collapses the ghosts I liquify. I was made, but to escape, the morgue I can't confine; the moon is less misguided, not to bury me.

There is no beauty to violate, when every augur that shifts my ghost, cannot shift its absence.

Never to seek its expiration, I cannot hide my mouth.

I cannot mimic dreams, until I bury you

Dec 2 3:15 December 3rd at  3pm

I only mimic dreams, to hide inside your ghost.

Is beauty no more the temptation, of a form it can't become?

There is no beauty to violate, when every augur that shifts my ghost, cannot shift its absence.

I only mimic dreams, that cannot mimic mirrors

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