Dirty Gerty's Hurdy Gurdy


Only the poem knows what's true

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

As pertains to LICHTSIGNALE
Death is only resisted, in the condition of its ghost- so much that even life becomes- the pale it would recede; it grips an equal turmoil, when no object is confronted; that nothing be so fatal, than its simplicity; the phase that Dix becomes, is more to lose his torsion; the "guazzo," the opaque tension of its form, cannot convince its distance; the flares commit a carnage, not to be observed; the skeletons - mired to their torque- are almost alembic to deviate, the amalgam they become; even inside their entropy, no war is resonant; the background of white, red, yellow, and cobalt blue, are bold to emanate, what they can't consume; Dix was no less seminal, berated from descent, than to shift his broken skeletons- from the commune of their wish- to fall but not beyond their death; the beauty is that, they are unnatural; and to make them fictive would denigrate, what they can't illumine; they may have dreamed a better imprint- even of Dante's Paradiso- the orders of angels were more suggested, in a yellow rose; that interposition that death creates; the assemblage of a body, reduced without a symbol, when every form is bleak enough to manifest its reason; and yet that logic can't transmit, the reversal of itself, they writhe when all is silent, to declare its lie; art would never be so tempted, to shift their intuition; that even to be functioned, it must condone their absence; and so in the way an aesthetic reveals an instinct from its cause- their Danse Macabre is unexpressed- until they mire form; it is such they have no tragedy, and Dix, for all their pathos in his fury, absorbs the ghosts he can't confide; with the war one year before its end- he sensed the twisted limbs, the mustard gas, the sobbing trenches, the shrapnel he would scar- as if his blood were not their phase, he interposed neglect; consumed without a hero; would he confide his sense? A dream refrained its anomie; their beauty was to be more foreign, imitating death. 

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