On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. At first they do not discern very clearly whence comes the strange agitation that reigns in this place. A wax bubble moon trembles on the honey blue horizon. The sea is black as a field of violets. How will they ever enjoy being in a land to which they are not accustomed?
A vast similitude interlocks all—all identities that have existed or may exist on this globe or any globe. Advancing rapidly to destinies beyond the reach of mortal eye. They say to each other Let us be like two falling stars in the day sky. And so this night is divine, more than any of the others.
But no time is given them to reflect.
What they believe in waits latent forever throughout all the continents. Latent forever.
To fall asleep here is to wake up there.
Last night a white apple fell from the loneliest tree in the world.
Not so much as a seed of that apple exists any longer.
I still hear them singing the rhymes of goodbye.
File download: http://armacost5.opendrive.com/files/54295527_asRbj_76f0/Two%20Individual.mp3
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
x. mach 9
Pregnancy. Thunderstorms. Postfinancial coronaries.
The days are ferns unfolding in a crystal-granite sea.
I sit in the city's erotic enormity-- a tsunami of architecture
encounters a tsunami of fog. High mist
plays tricks, swells the buildings
like breasts under gauze,
larger than life,
almost a real town.
From such overestimations
I deduct my dreams and voila,
a fearsome, wounded bird:
slanders and promises in front-page ink,
young ladies ordering birth control loudly,
bad kids on bikes
spit, the word Bitch
rings through midair.
I ignore, I pretend, I resign, idealize.
Where did I go on fantasies and lies?
Full throttle into the oscillation--
to pace the globe on airplane flights
sipping industrial orange juice
a life as wholly without context
as the asteroid kiltering blindly toward its demise--
some trillion dollar purse of nickel and tin
recreating a world where the deaf see
the mute think
the blind move.
Now I'm finding the limitations of the miracle,
the black zone where there is no error
and nothing changes no how.
Right back here on Planet Earth:
slanders and promises
A tsunami of architecture
encounters a tsunami of fog.
I ignore I pretend I resign.
I see angels with orchid wings in the sky.