Academic journal article Chicago Review


Academic journal article Chicago Review


Article excerpt

"Lentement, et tres tendrement, quoy que mesuré"

- Couperin: 14ème ordre, livre III


Tyranny of rapports; absolute

of the hotbed quenched monotonously and

grey your undoing of my night

in full night the lunary confirms

true being, wanting likewise

at battle to disconcert. Before wanting the

rapporting of your grey dreams, I quenched

the oil-lamp that from the corner criticized

this incandescent evil in your

white masonry embrace and if the drill

infallible of my scant thoughts

indivisible defense of the filter believe

me: incomplete

the description of your illness, the rest

is blood blue and vivacious: in the night of

my deposition when in small clusters

the grapes disengaged themselves from my believing

charitable fingers it seems a dream;

opportune you sell the soul and the scale

gives in.


When the pangs at the heart gratify

you seem a disaster and if you are sell

by all means the two hundred fingers that made you

believe I wanted, in the night disturbed

by little dreams without sleep, this perfect

revolt makes sense. Yet it seems

that aack the boom gives in, oval in the recalcitrant

catacombs and the heart, a blackboard erased

so much has the bull accomplished. Confide

quick because you seem, even now a perilous

blinding in your, pomegranate-undoing,

harmonic prospect: fingernail equal to

flesh if you don't shoot yourself, when youth

with its violin attacked a landscape

like the new subdivided era

in the skyscraper of your soul I sense

the odor of a match, quenched scarcely

lit and the sky, constant in its

cloudiness with open arms has sated

the exigency of flesh

(years) it too seemed a flower when

the beasts were slaughtered in the back of the

plague-afflicted shop, for chance that

in the hand gives in, when flesh quickly

collapses ring a round of roses.

What pretty poppies they are. They spiritualize

the grass, which grates cheeses of them.

Rio Claro: mechanized center: flowers (they

have no name) extend a friendly hand, drizzly

and sad (if you are) you extend an arm to the

wind and the rare rain.

Then you sense yourself superseded: they've snatched all

those breasts off the gigantesses! Again you extend

a friendly hand to the umbrella, and frugal

foot to the earth, little monstrous dust

that sneezes. …

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