First picture: "Our Crudeness Entwined". Second picture: "Threads Ripped Sideways". Third picture: "Wire Stirred". Fourth picture: "Misshapen Agnosticism". Fifth picture: "Abrupt Strings Foreseen". (I just created this last picture today.)
(I wrote this first poem today.)
Almost The Loop Resolved
---------------------------
Almost a lemniscates, almost the loop resolved --
The sphere obscures this concealment beyond it.
And all is entwined by such curvature afloat.
All is balanced by purity and its antipode.
Oh, upon the coil, the slender string becomes
Both air and bizarre spite. Before my
Exaggerated gaze, I stare at this hallucination.
And it was salt; it was ice; it was sand.
Ah, among the simple glow, light became itself
Within such cloth. And the shadow conceived, it
Is made wrinkled by its flatness. Yes, I foresaw
That abrupt discontinuation. For, this
Wire hid behind its existence -- and so it
Swerved and swept forth between me
And my dreams. It contracted its expansion,
Yet returned to its center now external.
=========
The Knot Remains
------------------
I tie the string to string in such tangential knots.
I possess the twists of red, blue, yellow, and consequence.
I taste the magic preconceived; for, it is salty.
And I become entangled in this scribble; I become
But iridescent in my magnification. Oh, trite is
The thread that engulfs me. But I untie these theorems
That each compose the soul. And the knots transform
Into truth bound within atoms of counter-intuition.
Thus, I calculate the conjectures via their stains.
Therefore, I am but entwined between the loops,
Between the sarcastic string and its obviousness.
Ah, I attempt to reiterate this puzzle of lines.
Yet I cannot but pick at the mess. For,
The knot remains, despite us. It still
Remains begotten and labyrinthine and, yes, impromptu.
******************
Inexact Twine
--------------
This metaphorical representation of strange twine
Appeared to descend beneath its coil,
Appeared to tangle and contain such an infinity.
But it was crudely drawn; for, it bended
At right angles to be parallel with the ground.
And I could not determine its truth from this
Scrawl of impure magnification. I could not
Evaluate the precise swirl of this string; for,
It was false; it was artificial; it was
Introspective but yet flat and coarse.
Upwards, the concentric blur rose through
The hollowness of the ring. And under this,
The minimalist line betrayed its antecedent.
Under this elongated helix, there we
Sketched inexact twine; there we drew
But only the overt simplicity of abbreviation
Never truncated, never foreshortened or unintended.
+++++++++++
Along The Twine
-----------------
Along the twine, this smoke encourages such
Molecules. Oh, bent are the tubes, are the strings
Flung upwards, up towards such a stem. We reiterate
The froth. We twirl and indulge in our suffocation.
Along the thread, this surreal crawl becomes
Our dance. And we fly, we hang from coils and
Cylinders, hang from definitions of the void.
Along the wire, vertically are placed
Placeboes and lemniscates. Vertically we are
Elongated and enclosed, we are delicate in
Our most lavishly imprecise hatred. Ah, along
The lines correlated with their own distances,
All meanders and yet is rectified. There,
All is indifferent to this moisture, all is inept
And cowardly and cannibalistic. And there we yet
Sift through this crevice we are perilously adjoining.
.................
Becoming My String
---------------------
Vertical and bland, such a cusp becomes my string.
Such string becomes all within me. And then it
Shatters as the cube, as the torrent of harsh and
Haphazard geometry. I might have arranged those lines
Upon their unending voice. I might have achieved
The artful grasp; but I instead revealed my own
Mentality to be inert. I instead resorted to anger,
To empty dismay. And I elevated my hand unto
The ceiling's simple upwardness. For above me, there
Inside us each, I knew to somehow scream, knew
To redeem the clock's angles. Oh, I knew yet
To sever the timid sky from my future. Because
Vertical and bland is
The syzygy of my scribbled penetration.
::::::::::::::::::
Out Of Strings Unwound
-------------------------------
If I tasted the strings binding us,
The strings which become our stale desires
To eat the colored wax which encases us,
Which encases our edible resurrection;
Then this childhood is sour and imploding
Into such rabid succulence suckling
Upon a fleshy shadow I realize
Is still blurred, upon spoken rapture
Transcribed. Perfection is its entanglement,
Is its simplicity coalescing, forming
Emptiness out of completion, forming
Completion out of strings unwound.
ooooooooooo
Coils
-------
Coils within coils, they astound
Themselves in their own estimations.
They compress down into the knot,
Then release into a strange flight.
For they are we, the springs we are.
They are disrespected for their libido;
Disenchanted by their purpose.
Yet they pretend to comprehend
The universe in its infinite; in its
Point infinitely large.
For they are the strings which
Make up all matter; they are
The helixes at the nucleus of
Each atom of life.
And they dare to behold their own
Virtue and intellect, but still
Ignore their ignorance, still fail
To believe in their own failure
At being more than only beautiful.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Wires
------
The wires of our random glee, they cut
And hold my mind within itself.
They grasp and coil and dimly enshroud
The misdirected shadows upon this edge.
And when idiocy becomes my distant metal,
I tangle and writhe underneath such
Illuminated superposition. For severed too
Is the essence of this scribbled thought.
Severed also is the glistening mesh of
These curled indications, is the blood
Of my symbolism, is the cord which still
Returns to its subdivision, which returns
To its wiry truth. For here
We are held by that separation.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Sinew
--------
Misspelled are the vertexes of each
Polygon returning. Strained
Is the sinew which desires
To rise and ring, to be this convexity.
And counting these atoms placed
Into what is only convoluted,
I pull and yell at these wires
That seem to be our strands,
That number the misspellings yet,
That encrypt the sinews
As if they had risen just to be astray.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Every Threaded Strand
--------------------------
The shards defined, they tempt and taste
Every threaded strand of shame, of glue --
They interpret the soiled moments
Of each excess, of each diamond
Chaotic and plain.
Such vibration speaks the final truth,
Begging our dreams to explain
What they are, begging them to
Create the riddles entwined with themselves,
To scrawl upon an earthen cosmos
What regards these tirades, regards the anger
Which sweats and somehow congeals
Into mundaneness preening its edge,
An edge of spindly consciousness
Asking us to spare its concern
From its paradoxical wrath.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Leroy Quet
No comments:
Post a Comment