Includes bonus puzzle with too many clues!
she and who, where
came it by, bye
slept it theirs, there
caught in care, bye
catch them cold, now
hard to hold, high
old but how, bow
head for-word, 'bye.'
Said,
Undirected path, in
haphazardous blue pen, through
black directed graph, in
calligraphic ink.
Undirected graph:
where is the time?
Where was the verb?
Where was the time?
I've lived through soliloquy.
I've let my hand slip through my fingers.
I've watched my hand slide
a stuttering blue line
to the side edge of the page.
Stumbling blindly always flailing ceaseless falter never failing
boundless bounding bounced from node to node to node to node
and bound to blue ink pen.
Said:
break the obsession with the beautiful things like threes;
break the threes and fours and flowers and;
symmetrical faces;
don't remove the mess;
throw the ugly things back in;
keep the dissonant, asymmetrical, unintuitive, complex forms;
scatter them amongst those other things and;
make strange noise in their music;
break things and;
make shards of the chardonnay just to see the jagged glass soak in the blood of whom?;
and then lick the floor;
make a waste land of a perfect lymeric;
make beauty the art of the blind;
And so..
I've paused here,
perched on black vertex below,
to contemplate that heaven hides
on each step of the stairway to nowhere.
The arcs point to the top;
there's no tripping down.
And we say:
I will go out.
(speechless wielding borrowed words,
codex made from grafted scrolls,
code of backwards phonic thirds,
borrowed words from lifeless souls)
:12 uh...
11: say...
10
9
8
7
6
5x I...
4
3
Bye.
Poetry by Morgan Cellohead
Read 847 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2014-09-05 at 19:55
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Shardonnay
Said,she and who, where
came it by, bye
slept it theirs, there
caught in care, bye
catch them cold, now
hard to hold, high
old but how, bow
head for-word, 'bye.'
Said,
Undirected path, in
haphazardous blue pen, through
black directed graph, in
calligraphic ink.
Undirected graph:
where is the time?
Where was the verb?
Where was the time?
I've lived through soliloquy.
I've let my hand slip through my fingers.
I've watched my hand slide
a stuttering blue line
to the side edge of the page.
Stumbling blindly always flailing ceaseless falter never failing
boundless bounding bounced from node to node to node to node
and bound to blue ink pen.
Said:
break the obsession with the beautiful things like threes;
break the threes and fours and flowers and;
symmetrical faces;
don't remove the mess;
throw the ugly things back in;
keep the dissonant, asymmetrical, unintuitive, complex forms;
scatter them amongst those other things and;
make strange noise in their music;
break things and;
make shards of the chardonnay just to see the jagged glass soak in the blood of whom?;
and then lick the floor;
make a waste land of a perfect lymeric;
make beauty the art of the blind;
And so..
I've paused here,
perched on black vertex below,
to contemplate that heaven hides
on each step of the stairway to nowhere.
The arcs point to the top;
there's no tripping down.
And we say:
I will go out.
(speechless wielding borrowed words,
codex made from grafted scrolls,
code of backwards phonic thirds,
borrowed words from lifeless souls)
:12 uh...
11: say...
10
9
8
7
6
5x I...
4
3
Bye.
Poetry by Morgan Cellohead
Read 847 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2014-09-05 at 19:55
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Editorial Team |
|
Nick Matherne |
|
Rob Graber |
| Texts |
 by Morgan Cellohead Latest textsDudos@, sospechos@Shardonnay Diary Fear Vorbei Birds Still Fly |
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