Sunday, October 13, 2024

( via / via )

That Life.

to fetch back · the fierce mechas
  cerulean under
poems posted · appease them nil
  is there any light but mercy?

ears ring ragged · with restive unsong
  bay clear to the bottom
in the blurred spume · a spider dozes
  misses the web quiver

darkness dilates · with instant dowse
  signature of so much force
the mechas fierce · as they batter down
  each painstaking construct

The October Palace.

“Always now the thought of the perfume in its cheap fluted glass bottle with gold paper label brings me back to that shitty room, its darkness, the blue typewriter on the folding table, the bad linoleum, these traits a carapace camouflaging a small freedom that gently expanded inside me like a subtle new organ, an actual muscular organ born of my own desire for what I took to be an impossible and necessary language. Its sillage was an architecture.” –The Baudelaire Fractal

Illustration from Parsifal. (anagram-rhyme)

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