fettered swarm
unknowingly final time
the burial theme reaches our ears
as across waves
cracked concrete
fern nook
loud drool
highway clipclop
poet ploy
Gnostic Holy Wars in the School of Night.
“In our exploded and massively wallpapered age, I have found that in Artaud the ancient, black springs of poetry are graspable, like a writhing piece of star gristle. Antonin Artaud is the stamina of poetry to enact in a machine-gunned hearth the ember of song.”
— Clayton Eschleman via @mtthwtmknsn
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