from MYESIS Part II


listening is as easy as California, a young philharmonic montane, the
superfluous intentions of progress, bathing in a light rain of leaves. Split
the radical arhythmic to capitalist utopia, we would call it the moon, if
not for the proliferation of utopias. Stones dilate in the angle of promise.
Belated liberation a cancer of levity. Leavened candelabra, organic metals.
A decorous country. Raucous. Nudity, folly, baleful gaps, stripped reading
tokens faking the holy fear. North of slant in musical treason, endemic
difference, silence discovers the newly spartan, stacked in recuperative
azure. Tailored to the industrial standards of dance. Everyone except the
eye. At the same time, a consumer. Muscular into food. A single rhapsody
conducive of sound and consumption. Read glances like immaculate ceremonies.
Caged in the school of volume and turbulent signs. Claude Simon: Before I
start setting down signs on paper, there is nothing - aside from a formless
mass of more or less confused sensations, or more or less precise memories;
and a vague, a very vague project. Perhaps overly perinatal. Mutation orders
the erosion of a collective unanimity. It is advertising that produces the
nation. Where the parenthesis begins, at the outside of art. Reason becomes
dependent on social activism. This is where I would like to be.
and beautiful. Moving against the as. As it were, as if it were, living a
very gentle as if. Remember or seem. In the very early church, a room of
fictional regalia. In the glacial state beyond sound. Seeing also reeks of
sensation. The need for words is a fiction. A blur of harms swelters in the
mansion. Stone skull. The infinitely co-opted altitudes. Perception is a
dissonance of power. In chaos and evil the voice of the comet is its only
disaster. Blanchot: It is not you who will speak; let the disaster speak in
you, even if it be by your forgetfulness or silence. A reconciliation of the
senses to seduction, repression, a requiem of excess. Every verb stretches
into a single gesture. Dilation of the thigh. Only absence can speak the
reach of peace. Freedom without playing, the modernist aesthetic, music in a
cage. Performance perfected in the limp of the ready-made. The site of such
a simple anxiety as the binary twittering of modernist finery. Torsion of
experience out of the picture. Sunrise in music is only to make a listener.
Defenestrated by the aesthetics of chance.


The probability of a gathering.
I have no leisure to gift as if the Delphic whale, while I am still
forbidden to wear the well, to answer the saying I want too swollen and
belated. Errors of the simpler secrets. But, full of summer, let me ask you,
against the fragrance of aquamarine and open to the feet, of the dance of
angus cattle conducting us, judging the chthonic helots by the thunder of
their sounds, how the circadian gift of thought is a barrier to the head, my
death an incomprehensible being, strayed away from somatic anthers like
thinking yoked to laurel, against all hope I thought when young and a lover
of trees and knowledge. Girth coupled to a drawing of the avoidance, the
bough of the poem a bullet or a book, having arrived magically as yourself,
one can read the beast as matters of advantage standing bottled within the
written love. I am sown when their paper powders all compulsion, as benefits
the openness of their initiation, concealed in thinking that they are the
hidden lover, no such ash as quarreled within the song of history. Rid of
all thought evolved into this well. Esteemed black tomb of sounds. To what
is the drone of that.
Poppy seeds lapsed through reft allure. Compelled by spelling the rift in
hymns, to do at once what diminished in letters lets me offer until I'm
split in speech, to speak as I believe in hours and leaves beneath me,
crossed sidereal nation of the wheats, in which the lover is an indifferent
myth (you must first of all intuit the roll as I extol suspended nerve to
you supposed in thought as lyrical and young, no hope of pride to tease the
grave into a place to sit, woven by the Ilissos and weakened in the gravity
of my sandals). The book is a cooler sound inside the summer thunder. No
place in which to explain the gendered breeze and cracking trees, weather
harried by Oreithyia, this little stretch of despotic maidens playing in the
night. Not exactly here, but in the tents beside the temple of Artemis. By
speech I am yoked to the word. I should not believe this initiation except
for the leather cover of Oxyrhynchus. An aid to the neighbor's eye. Locality
according to notation. From thought to the dance, not that thought is
history or locality, but that we will be required to approximate the
epicenter, to rehabilitate the hypnotic dance. Numberless in guessed
thunders, under the numb as skeptical, about to think in septic definitions.


Ritual glue of the socius. Some of you come from the unhinged winds, seen
sitting within the encephalic sun, tells me that this music is borne on
clustered gems, born in a cloister, wind then I suppose within the
epicenter, crates of hens, tangle of Olympian zygotes, turns you into a
canticle I breathe between the canceled youths, spare time to hew the
conversation renewed to orders of pennyroyal, words of titular return to
sort the sour narration. Once formed in lyric vision, nuts and beans,
covered by this flicker of received sepsis, wish rather than wounds then
sung in ontic words, towards the quieted wands to detect the husk of
longing. I douse the song you reached to grave unborn, I will sleep you in a
thorny greed, social justice into an elaborate song, a long time coming
through this wondrous doubt. Weakness repeated to hold these many times
overtly mourning, or else I would dream the world to seem occluded gists,
sitting tiered in tufts, the simple eye of death leaning in the sounds, he
sent into the vine a certain lover coiled, cone now thought in heated dance,
to walk the writing words repeat as if a tale unheard.


eavesdropper, litmus ear, that is reading. floor doesn't look with easel
insignias capacity, capacious inflicts some other energy, reading critical
into its conception an inscription of the will, this transports us to the
returns of our abandonment, as style is a behavior, silence our relations
rather than taken into a mist, a token of the acrostic analogue, our status
and stake in doubt how we become instead of words. one quote of the possible
swerve from roles of Dionysos to the Eleusinian mysteries, confessed as an
equation to the theorem of words, equated with the riven world, is
conclusion of an era when traditions erupt in vultures. without
understanding the collectivity of modernity and its criticism, as above so
below or as if a horizontal root in plasm, the literal decipherment of the
text, cavorting in a spiral vacuum, pieces of glass buried in the albumin,
forsaken nuance straddled by flames as if the mask of a bridge, the
minotaur, the jester, the shot-put, the nude yolk of its enclosed song, an
essay on riddance and derivation. reproduced images and the eyes are raised
to these complexities. scandalous possibility that you might be art, good
luck doesn't even matter, what is engendered can't avoid being an artist. I
don't think I've been consistent with the repetitions I've engendered.
controversial or minimalist, but it was just a Dadaist painting. there's no
such thing as bitter material. an artist manufactures his own flavor of
confidence. I've come to terms with my song. sometimes it works and
sometimes it is less than liberating. the moment can't be as even as it is
false. now, if they did that with their hands in their dreams, let's say
they had cigarettes and coffee, each new painting was an heir to their
dreams. exact object in the gap between the two parentheses. numerous, like
geometricized analysis, thirst transformed into cubic melodies of
proportion, then into abstract, asemic, centrifugal teaching, then into a
hand, which can be reduced to an even smaller diagram.


Pleasure and theory, theoria, returned to meat in ambient fire, no monster
normally formed in the playing vat, slowly seasonal once the eye in shale
shall last. To think against a lover, small values in the ordered socius,
for our love of the open polis, if we father our orders upon that principle,
no doubt into the mists, neither before nor there in moments or an hour, the
fiend but a thinking rule, the cone almost a stand of souls and wilted in
volutes, inviolate slanting vapors to edge rewards towards you. Those who
will empty possessions without prescribed duress, to others who care through
norms of life about but less in tune, rather their own virtues relapsed to
rite and sect, ends in fiery admonished gifts his kindred evening doubts.
Without his own intentions he will ask me what, to which I reply that
nothing is forbidden to the indiscriminate eye. Hidden by hymns in the whole
ardor of advantage, as if I have said enormous fur is an option to our
needs. The seeds of opinion in the ropes of that. What do you think if not
the grace of language? Lace ice in a sink. Admirable edge of terror. I
observed you withered by experience of the divine. Dare lingers in the
blood. I breathe a bed of use. I believe you are pleased to mean that I am
not. No longer talk in that vulnerable way, wavy vulture walk, the gods of
zany dust. The birth of us a deuce. I have said this more openly elsewhere.
You are as I expected.


Covered that if true sound will injure his unborn infinite import with a
malady of words that admits himself singing in his mind, words crest in the
nightly mire, worn when in his wrought quivers, hand if you poem but gift
from the money you find among the dead to be there always thinking, some
clast to bone the comic in his heart, heat wanted isthmus moral sone unkind
again this whisper, in his regular occult cocoon, in words that are their
own explanation, wind buttered by the knurl of candles, thin talk between
the fictive knees. Palace flickers tuneless fears. A mutual calculus of
breath tableaux. Willow springs afraid of singing hats, oneiric verb
society, health of the will in a night of Phrygian caps, open to
misunderstandings arranged to our advantage. Hymns overtly gamut, fried ends
of words cleansed by composition, into the livid noon to be jealous of the
fish, diffuse associations defaulted by the syntax. Rout of historical
ships, route through the endless mouths, south of the fold they kindled in
an asp. Boreas has passed in a case of causal knots. Wind a way not lessened
by the hymn, not loosened to the dream or in an inner ear, in that you are
unlikely to praise your words as ending you. Also love as such, such that
love exhibits heat, heat he composed unto others, otherwise comprised of
Guido d'Arezzo: 11th-century monk: assigned syllables to each fingertip and
joint of the hand to indicate the relative positions of notes on a scale: a
singer familiar with this system could read a melody on the joints of his
hand: the lowest pitch was called the gamma ut: in English, gamut came to
mean the whole scale
ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la: Ut queant laxis resonare fibris Mira gestorum
famuli tuorum, Solve polluti labii reatum (Absolve the crime of the polluted
lip in order that the slaves may be able with relaxed chords to praise with
sound your marvelous deeds) from a Latin hymn to St John: syllables selected
from this sentence were used mnemonically as names for the notes.


Rather would I disburden myself in blossoms, your amber and your violence,
than drudge the sown as riddance in my speech. My umbrage and your ambage,
history in tatters stranded among the words, but that is irrelevant to the
sounds of my worldly silence. Ego in the face of the grave. Each word is an
unanswered anger. The poor lemma, still up to your tricks in play but now
fed by the will which I denote. Sound gallops through the land, and still
you do not know its masks. Necessity is melodious. The strained eye of your
consolation, going my way in a herd of poems. He always denotes an ash,
fairly buoyant openness, arranged in many lovers that he did not help. He
was playing an openness to accept the noon. In the same way, all comes to
nouns, as when they drown the song in a causal thirst. Contradicting one
another is our fundamental error. I have many identities. We owe nothing to
civilization. Keeps us ignorant and submissive. In my mansion are many
readings. And so what we are designing, besides becoming the autonomous
world, is time. You can write your way out of an identity. That which you
speak is surrounded by subtle moans of repetition and variation. But not out
of a mansion. We are the invisible things which should no doubt be codified.
Not even out of a reading. We are about the transmission of the poem, to
hear the poem in the organic, experiential kinesis of the body. One love
left at noon, neither nerve nor power appealing in her letters. Came as a
desire, and went away. The verb is one of us. Whatever they will, instilled
in openness.


One after another up a great deviation, why I must that which has become
ridiculous, enough for me to assert that I am a monster, a typo, a
constructed diviner lounging beneath a plane-tree, phantom fading into the
titular yes, by heresy to spring the lofty socializations into blossoms of
foolish pain, tremendous eyes in mist or theoretical breath must vex the
somatic breeze masked in answers admirable like a gullible pillow fading
into the ether uncounted against our youth, crossed by gates, a social
verisimilitude, wrung from reason to cite my telic hungers, youth before the
grave like a supper of meats governed by the widening of choice in the
polis, phantoms listening from afar, rain breathed in knots to fail the
kindliness of night, lovers against these crimes for the way in which they
howl by reason of service to other the armor they harbor in ample verbs,
nerves refuted by puling in neglect, excuses of ardor rising freely in the
dominant torus, nothing you say is greater than the gift of this formal
The point is to hear a poem that is a bet. The great moment comes when,
expression through your ardent revelation, a true and urgent literature, is
the embodiment of resultant poems. A Greek expression for rendering utility
to the gods. Dionysos, the fires of Orpheus, extend to my own working of a
whole into its parts, as a structure then also as its sparagmos.
Disorienting cup of the primal skeleton. Behead so that room is left for
cerebration. There is no thing that without a twist is literally access to
these imaginal realms. To reconduct someone to the core of the will is a
symbolic intuition of an essence or a personification of perception.


cannot as if sooner than latent therefore placid notations feverish I see
eerily three frogs or suckling asps very tiny before the theater of the will
nevertheless summarily of the beginning not of the afterword or social as
the guest my hand under the magnolia as I love you exercised among the
phantoms of noon to read this enormous wind a letter from the social truth I
am a tryst of phantoms lead us on into the easiest way of thinking words
that would fade into darker cycles eyes driven through phases of theoretical
sulfate lie down in the social movie unconscious without understanding the
phase of fodder I shoulder the switch aboard these social seas such is the
fading hand cancelled by thankless fancy I believe the social clown
therefore an altar of boredom but I have feigned this tale of social wisdom
that I might have a northern wind heated in the manner of light discrepancy
a ship that was taken by the allure of allegory she was talking through her
hems the mythic lament of the allopathic gulch music began in heat winged
serpents portentous of the bland nativity written in a circle of translated
breaths phantasmal persona opening beside the broken tree cradled in soul
the mythic fetal copper fatal myself outside the common I friend of the open
air soteriology there happening in fateful eyes the house which cause has
honed to a feast of openings daemonic in filtered youth the social hand she
asks as if I fate a driven will to cull the dance from wine my phantom
thought is an occupied dust being tempted by the moon no social opening to
enrich the melody of the muscles by way of the public benefits to marshall
emendations from a philter practiced in water the nightly winds an open
rhetoric of the grave grief opening to social belief I assert then this
beginning is insurance again against a heart in hymns to gratify the book
that which the morning answers until the opening is behind us unless it was
his practice to leap the weaknesses he reveals to stand within the discourse
as its beginning


Eubouleus: The body is written in a language which none of us can read,
onion which aspires to sound, then again an acorn optioned to the squalls,
temperatures parallel to flags, pus to please the fumes. Hand's plants
marked as given desires to the ears of the tyrannical night, sense a name
which any eye might apply to any other. What happens within my discourse is
a turn towards better opinions than the ones I had towards personal bees and
sirens, say, and by which this very fomentation, which I share as a formal
pause, becomes a fictional poem, neither of myself nor inspired, but the
marrow of appearances superimposed upon the integuments of its layers.
Dialogues accrue within you, but their hands are declared a clearing in
which asserted birds begin to rust. This is how enquiry lowers from the moon
as unreadable passion or a hymn to agreeable whims. Full of hymns, part of
his tilted thought, its ignorant egoic limp, the speaker in other viaducts
of the dissolved delights in love as if within a gem, as if he might help by
being jealous a wooden church mask the given wisdom within him. In his
excessive need to banish grammar from plan, he inflicts upon the ignorant an
evening of understanding.


Triptolemos: Heart cursed by a hymn to disaster, transformed from the fat to
the rose, a lavish servant, song which wilts the wounded bough, one plainly
misled by the human angst of supernal peace, exercises suborned by the
martyrdom of surmise. War is the climax of love, this is its advantage over
drama and variety, as if love fed myrtle through the louvered window to holy
beast the hijinks of its heist, a jealous eye less than the prayer of
eagles, purified by his lifeless possessions, childlike and lonely as an
animal in all of this. Nature has a thorny way of saying corporeal fire. And
yet the fontanel of the zero is the history of love, the festival of
flowering burns to thought and theorem, iris and herb and bulb of the grave,
no more parlous now than the loment of the noun. Fornication is as old as
the helpless answers of the nether abyss. But who has time for history? Mist
bled face and thecal eye, quietude detached from the jealousy of the word.
To hear misplaced orations which are unpublished, almost drunk, continues in
humor, becomes a perfidy of promises. And yet...


language as if an atrophy of formulae senses diminishing thought though I
regress either from continuously threaded ways emitted by a social dread or
in mentation not to dance the I who has against me this doubtful grist
remembered from possible assembly formed in the full ransom of the redaction
I am in that I know enough to carry myself in nouns as the foramen of
sensual desire not only as the hand entirely set up to ape the life but as
altogether the garments the integuments of the point arid into the whole
discretion of the flowering well where it can be said that there is a
refrain for the foreign places then inside the reasonable eye disordered as
history in the letters of speech as youth shall have clipped eyelids against
array a finger upon the proven sky south of the cancerous beast into the
thing as you speak in wanting into the tomb


Stand envied by a hall of wills. Not entered and altered by love, even when
the will as a ship forgives the glove of ending slips, verb true as its
woven eye, ever empty of the grave at most in mist almost an eye relieved of
youth should will the hand of love to you erased by purity and youth.
Squarely outside wrought dynamics, unworthy into the rose of whole
imposture, no acceded will to wall the word in a telling of no tales, no
will to continue in picked equators to trill unborn the evergreen as it has
left you. In order yet this array of lives in bald thought fattened by a
heavenly smudge of language, not to evert by indulgent fall the gradually
recipient dance of worlds in nouns, now love neither rich nor young with
desires more arduous especially than the pause I owe you, words thinking in
the exemplary hour of the homunculus. The real I is an option of our
thinking. That any eye is the author is only another ardor.

anthropos photeinos

above tombs underground howling in a gem selves into one in an attempt to
cure acknowledgements against himself as if it were good in which our
nonchalant morals not that many have had a hand you will be at the end of
the ship if in all probability the willow is openly of the emblem all has
not been lost but not of the plan following the nerves to each other love
neither past nor the reason why merely a hardship to accompany in any other
case what it is that you will have he is also sown in the debris of his
jests they should be his whole influence unless your disinterested youth is
a quarrel with him word of their soul rather than slighted by hate expected
to love below that roiling wind discontinuous words to breathe the gulfs of
these covered by the spoils of will because they are an erosion of the man
of light such are the scented winds anointed in a draught of knots
a murmur of language in commas. I am not worthy of the form or of the
manner. As lyrical as apples within himself. I selve, two or three times he
appeared to meat, one thing in two or the poem's intuition, was the espoused
abjection rightly disavowed more often than sagacious men set up in words,
in judgement against anything better than this moment. I do not aileron the
wise nor possess perceptions received in a lyrical aberrant of bosons,
indifferent to who I am as well aware as I have been, filled thoroughly with
what I have forgotten. Through beard to discourse the given at my earnest
junction (discarded as a riven function). Driven by cause to grieve the
furnace. Claws. Pause. Reprieve of the purpose. Equal in length to the will
promised by my opinions, as large as the gift of you, which means that the
lyrical vial is ash raining icicles into the praise without thought, these
are the trials of the parenthetical lover. What else is thought if not an
arrangement of leaves and commas? Derangement of the commas. Coma of the
arrangements. Common range of the meant. Estrangement. What else is sought
if not an arrangement of sheaves and loments? Cleaves the lemma. Still-life
with vest and lemons. Honesty and progeny, I too will breathe the lover is
more dangerous than a longing, bland again that a statue of the offerings
should tease a climax of eyes from hymns. I am going to implicate the lamp
in a dust of just intonation, impressionistic speech compels me to say
enough. He was and had a hand in the wash.
To be pitied rather than intercourse with you supine upon the vintage, being
not masterly violence between dislikes, unintentional offenses I crease as
occasional marks outside the gerund, reflecting the rift of this world
within its others, gift of whorls in defects, hurls deflected clefts in rent
infection, not that we should dream our passion as a poem, but that
expression is a fracture of hours effected by the ontology of the rose,
those who allay our tones do good to open the mask against a feast, the
frenum of the empty soul wounded by the ways of the word, breathes will
through beast to play the criterion of your head. Yet supine within your
prayer breathing empty tubulin, rose whole flower uncouth to tubular thought
unholy, prose of the raving susurrus a modest androgyne openly, but to those
who whelm their passions in a charm of outward dissertations, no nerve
unsaid consistently the idea that it has wrought, no intuited lover born in
sheaves of thought, shallow indulgences of the soul needle by rational
censure the work of the word from the injury of frenzy, anything more is
whole and understanding. I will answer the cause of the excellent night
vanishing in ravished plans. This is the ecstasy of the androgynous I Am,
followed by the width and youth of frenzy in a gamut, meat shaved of meaning
and the hours of uttered weather, not the same subject as the lineaments of


accompanied even by fire. He is the servant of an intemperate light, which
has taken poetry, the dormer of his sayings, into another escrow to fulfill
the unruly wand. Having been as he was between the oysters, in sterile
pursuit of flight and procreation, by an imprecation not kinetic slanted
instead towards the gifts of love, unlawful to estate himself in the bottled
eyes of his mind, but friendship feeds on youth, and even love involves the
breaking in verse of vanities only habituated to advantages of acceptance.
City obscured by a song. An opulent censure, full of musical becoming.
Angels to whom you owe the levels of the moon. I am stranded now in the
recension of this tale, thing teased from an inflated eye, not until the
habitual spoon is the fate of an other strayed in talons and parsed by a
foetal dross. Maybe one of your others is compelled to be a Theban, but you
have always been the cyclical inverse of whatever it is you do. I was about
to convey the forbidden nest, then I heard a vulture inside the noise, and
he would not go away. Query the wooden ones. Fillet the unbuttered wheat.


at the edge of himself as relates to his wine, firestorm in pleroma, not to
choose a light appears in shadowed dance, the sweltering embraces of health
which happen between the arches, wealth of the sash or knife in ash, nuptial
allure of the treated light, certainly no thought of adverse lips to
navigate the ranted page. Roars inside the matter, bull the first desires
above a nest, indoor procession or representation panned in gold, chariot
wind stranded in passion seems less roaming manger than engendered kill in
tatters. Whole mingled a terror in hurt courtesan, hurries the time they
singe in exterminated birds, feathered name of the ego a pleasant sough,
ever to cover the knees in sounds not only of his yellowed love. Necessity
and itched thought he receives, danced therefore aberrant pleasures nor
needles to tone the feel. Remainder to stable estimates, when hubris
thatched and gruesome in the folds, no eggs left unexamined intolerable to
whorl. The ego of a mischievous world, parlous enemy of hope, no tenet could
harden in the lyre.
Hera Iakchos Triptolemos Dionysos Demeter Kore Herakles Athena Eubouleus
Semele pomegranate apple fig vine almond date myrtle laurel wheat beans
Rheitoi Ilissos lekythos amphora rhyton pelike hydria urn skyphos vase cup
jar kotyliskoi pseudokotyliskoi architraves metopes triglyphs megaron
sarcophagus frieze relief (votive) Ionic temple terra-cotta painting capital
caryatid pedestal aedicula statuette statue tablet coin pottery cinerarium
poppy rosettes pyxides skull of a steer. equanimnity of the soul as a goal
in itself.
prefer any future to the erasure of the new. Right in trusting his minced
personage to wound us nightly in the mind. Although alterity is untenable,
to control his reason, that these desires might wither in the ore. There are
many nuptial theories of the lovers, you will encounter the erroneous
choices in their breaths. No one is worthy of your fiery allure, the void of
your reproach, to emulate the eye as if in the sound of a hymn, to make a
show of his laborious fiat, aloe desirous of solid ground not generally
noted for its knowledge. Wherever they are obsolete, the seers are a somatic
affair of dissonance. No one asks the reason whether its friendlessness is
natural. Consider that in an unbroken argument the given is a haven for
unquestioned hazards. How many vexations before the many align against him?
Fear the whore of the lake. With this wealth of iterations to bless a shower
of lurid bodies. Anybody's influential glissade broken into the windows of
youth as regards your own wilful value, gravid to qualities in love is the
reward. Stir beloved in draughts of will is their favorite simulacrum,
notwithstanding hatred, which may be a yawn of lovers. His belongings under
song, too grave to weather the wilt in terror, always a glut of fictions,
our recollections of us to come. Whereas the language is a long way
partially behind, evoked by passage parallel to the knees, to disappoint the
thunder in praise of the risen wheat.


sign, this listening. kinds of listening, scanner, runner, spinning, we do
not emerge of it, we cannot, every verb listening to the language speaking,
language speaking the language of disclosure, the way of Helios or in
relation to his void, his voice, speaks does not emerge every of in it, in
that already a silence since a voice, if and other, pressures of the voice
towards that disclosure, distance in relation to thinking, tinkering, as
that to which void or voice helps itself helps us to protect ourselves,
infect and detect ourselves, inflect and deflect ourselves, avoid, but
nothing sounds as the eidolon of now, near or nearly ear, hearing, how an
egg returns to his accountable excess, where the terror begins, in access to
the sound collapsed in wounds, word as such endowed with the blessing
enclosed in name, sound opened is also absolved of name, not the nominal of
our point of view, of panoply, as so many systems, as the orders of an
ontology, our enlightenment a representational progress or its border, to
discover us, but also as the return of language to the eye can be a point, a
surplice over script, a stronger and stranger argument for the mantic heart,
as if culture is produced by language in the form of poetry, raises the
import to portals of the word, praises invaluable in servile vicissitudes,
bent to the utile conclusions that the other in scholarship does not use the
word excess among these traditions, even as an elementary aspect of the
singularity, the convergence of other traditions at the magnetism of Rhea,
Cybele assembled from a figure implicit in the Cyclades, outside the aura of
the signifier, cysts or stems conceived as thoughtless so also readerly, a
sacrament of mental communion.


nouns imaginal gyre, lambent biota above the ventral sires, lower trials in
trauma against the temple of the glands, irate and an erection, trails of
tantra in the simple grains. Blemish fainted unheard into the portent venom,
wind that wreathes the clasp in stillness still despoiled, a kiss against
the magic, wand of jewels derided shout inside the gabled ear. Putative as
loping Horus, seasons of the thigh myself not shrinking into Kore, hammer
torn from callow prints, three ravens confer in mythic rust to share the
lead environ. Beggars sing shrill dreams, ridden by their pensive deeds to
ravel in the mist. Evolved involutions radical to the blade, leaf in a
formal grove of print, no scattered crest senescence to maladjust the river
scene, by now a mural flour hidden in the scientist boils. Emendations of
the trap, sore cove at a reign in glance, my mark if sound then glade in
raids unless the stress in spinal fate. Cushion of splintered tables,
tablets cloaked to norms infarcted by the moiré, no fantastic thrill of
clasts to clove the molten pig in spangles of the nave. Ranged in milk and
sacrifice, by art to singe the congregation charmed by roils of bonds or
flayed in mortal choice, no slide to hover in the lungs temporal to the
beacon door. Once more slips from vantages of Elpenor to the pyre, plan of
roles to query the ships. No grain is chafed to fathom fire.