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Pagan Paul Jul 2018
.
And her arms enfold me,
I lay my cheek
against her breast.
The shaking starts,
the tears fall,
as sobs emerge unhindered.
Cries from way down deep,
and I hear her heart,
slow, steady, metronomic.
So I follow its rhythm
along a path richly bathed
in warm sunlight.
Through an archway
and across a threshold shrine,
the cemetery of the Ancients.
A hundred thousand names,
carved in marble,
adorned with statues and plinths.
Holding knowledge of old,
and the sound of silence,
like an abandoned library.

The shadow of love hovers close,
driving through midnight mists
and leading me on.
Practising narrative necromancy,
reanimating old words,
giving them life newly born,
upon the first carved marbles,
its names burnished with wisdom,
and the anonymity of obscurity.
There glows one name
in forgotten script
and I know my deepest identity,
the weight of the aeons
flows free into my mind,
histories of the millennia.
I know
my Forest Lady holds secrets
that belong to me.
And she gestates them all,
a coveted pregnancy.

A path-working, an etherical dream,
and her heart skips a beat,
as another part of me
crumbles and dies,
to mingle with the dust
of ancient knowledge.



© Pagan Paul (11/07/18)
.
Charles Barnett Nov 2012
Your voice is electricity
that shoots through my ears
and down my veins like
Frankenstein's Monster.
Reanimating the dead
cells and tissue with
surgical precision.
Arcing across my back
and shoulders singeing
hair follicles and chattering
decrepit teeth in my mouth
like dice in a cup.

Your voice is electricity
and it's clinging to my chest
like a defibrillator, sending
shockwave after shockwave
through my heart and soul.
mûre Jul 2013
If you should ever mourn
for the trickery of distance
take heart, my clever love
for I am there.

I never left you.

Close your eyes.
Can't you feel me?
The Trans-Canada Highway winds all through your veins
and I'm travelling from limb to limb, leaving mementos in all your provinces.

Inhale, your cranium is my house.
Our mingled memory, the portraits of every hallway
reanimating CBC radio conversations of our own frequency.

Now...
Open your eyes.
They are my electricity.
You need merely to exist
to keep turning me on.

Listen to the silence, the thrum of blood in your ears
is my car pulling into our driveway-

Speak words of love, for your mouth is my bedroom-

Look closer-

And I know you will see us plainly.

We are never, ever apart.
Alin May 2015
Bloom had a gravid heart last night
She could not relate but meditate with leaves up

Bloom received a thicket from the moon
While she froze in a posture of  
‘a gift to be presented to ... but for whom?'

Fitted well in length on both of her parabolic curves
as if a newborn glume

a galaxy made of a wood flower
a heap which once a cycle blossomed
same color as the fragrance of a lover's desire
in a deepest clearing at the heart of hearts
at a holy spot where a ray shone
Just one night falling on one cycle  
to awaken a moonflower

She sings the magic wood's tune
to matchmake destined lovers
living in such mirrored cycles

....

The golden  bunch which she then gently grasped
until a fist would became its skin and pulsate
in mindful rhythm

reintegrating the nature of nodes within

reanimating the beat from and through the leaves

delivering health to All its unitless dimensions

The nourisher and the rejuvenated
the heart of joy
a flow
to  find its way this way
along the equifying particles
on one smiling body

she dreamt of

....

Next morning I got up early
seeing the municipal cars aside
with stacks of healthy roots inside
all to be planted in a day
to grow trees
in front of her little house  

and yes she could relate this time

first with bewildered eyes
then with bewildered mind
then with a breathing belly
then with a full heart
she smiled

....

*She was a mystery studying  facts only
Ryan Bowdish Feb 2013
Stay over me
I feel you on the water
You converge with my faces
We have no space between

Work your way over my chestplate
Earn me with your stressed delay
Trust me when I keep you safe
I hold you here and dear when you're awake

Leave me to rest
Then you come back along to sing
With my body, you make the world scream
And I rewrite myself in you

So don't use me with the limelight
Like everyone has found in hindsight
I don't need another blindside
I need reanimating twilight

(starlight) to be aligned with you
(streetlights) to be aligned with you
(lifelines) to die inside with you
(hold on) to grow side by side with you

Who will be the one to claim me?
Who will be the one to slay me?
Will the music that I make end up making me?
When will there be lucidity for me?
Shade siting , escaping scorching rays.
A book in hand, words reanimating  visuals.
The scent of pages drowned in tears,
They are different of course. Bitter is the scent of sorrow, few are the drenches of joy.
Past words coming to life, old life lived anew.
Lost words are found, though plain words are lost in interpretation.
This inked paper offers an escape.
Return I will, not now but the end.  
Let time tick till it sets,
While words tock to infinite.
Maddie Borisov Feb 2015
a single sight of you is just like
inhaling after breathlessness
trapped without air
just to come into utopia

a single touch of your skin is like
an electric shock to the heart
a defibrillator reanimating me
breathing spirit into my lifelessness

a single kiss is like
all I’ve waited for
my hopes and dreams suddenly settle
at the touch of your flawless lips

but without you is like
being ripped of all dignity
destroying me slowly from the inside because

*i need you
zebra Sep 2016
The way we love
is deep ocean rolling
into the depths
parts unknown
quickened
reanimating
as her hips sway in my mind
to a melodious Adagio
and every day,
when we talk
she unravels
like the threads of a scanty dress
more exposed
our souls held
in a steady grip
caressed at first
like nested fledglings
open mouths begging
blood bells weeping
liquefied
swallowing each others souls
like bears
eat up-leaping salmon
pink tongues
frothy saliva
blood
and runny roe sacks
loves hungry mouth
merciless

a ***** head
a brute
storming her *****
sweet fluttering nightingale
singing the high notes
she opened
like queen snake
pierced to the core
royal lady weeping
lost in heaven
and then cut off
we hang up the phone
left longing
for more words
and
butter kisses,
eating
butter kisses
mixed with
whisper cocktails
a sea of fire
that singe and burn

our love
a flaming pink cloud
puff
brains like cheese melts
mouths like powder fizz
our feet and thighs
flexed and scorched
by lurid desire

and if it gets murky
if the fog blinds us
we hold a tender stretch
of vastness
and endless lighted torches
as the lifeline pulls through
a pulsing chord
Umbilicus
binding hearts
by threads of light and crimson plush
fused by cosmic fires white
hollowing parched sockets
pumping out epiphanies
in beaten silken swords
bursting
full of faith
spines like temple columns
i am free to love her
as trees cradle monarchs
both of us
children of the heavens
she
dark lover yielding
in lustful throngs
as we thrill
in the realm of the senses
like dancing flowers
in sprinkles of dew and light
as love blushes
and shimmers up around us
like rhythms of a thousand kissing eyes
undulating
penetrates sinews and the body electric
like winged Venus
when two souls
love each other
unbreakable
yet obstructed
by oceans and continents
a colossal brood of lands
while beneath
shrug tectonic groans

our love
air and fire
while flesh remains
un-thawed by proximities neglect
panes of ice
waiting
waiting
waiting

Breathing in the dark,
Chemicals cloudy
Aged and coloured,
By the breaking down
Of skin, soft tissues
And dreams.

Animals dream, too,
Here in tubular palaces
Captured and floating.
Each footfall vibrates
On singing parquet
And they stir,
Timed by my movement.

Breathing in the dark,
Heart settling to a rhythm
Swaying in time,
With these spells of ages
And a Blackbird caws
At the centre of my brain.

In dim-lit netherworld
Songbirds feast
On plastic berry Bacchanalia,
And the owl eyes a mouse
Who has yet to discover
His second death.

A fox cub
Curling infinitely about herself,
Shows a varnished bacon tongue.
Cutesy and hot-headed in her starring light.

And I…
I stand as still as they.
Suspended in this spirit lab.

A player just as beastly,
Mentally reanimating
Every twitching nose,
Lightless eye
And curious, scratching paw.
Miguel Diaz May 2016
The illusion of power,
Grandiosely secured,
Dreams, we hold dearly.
Controlled environments,
Machinework in souls.
Metabiological cyborgs,
Reanimating constructions,
Perceptions in a simulation.

Will we love another?
Will artificial intelligence
Teach us love.
Will oxytocin flicker?
Receptors are to respond
to the empathy chemical,
and the altruism principle.

As such, a society is divided
By humanity and machinery.
The movement to transcend is strong.
The will to remain, strong also.
Boulders catapulted toward eachother
By ancient war tribes
Brought from the past,
Ressurrected from textbooks.
Time repeats itself,
Cyclical, spiral, constant.

And the simu-film ends.
The audience applauds.
Human emotion,
Intensity and experience,
Life is lived vicariously,
The new man is just as old as the old man,
Our future is within the present.

The future is today,
The movement is you.
The action now.
Your voice changed my mood like a chameleon. Flooding my mind in deep nostalgia, I am surrounded by reminders of what pleasures we partook, we indulged, we unapologetically did, we confidently said and we therapeutically wanted. We ravaged, we begged, we, were, human.

Your scent still leaves a trace that even a bloodhound could find. Roses vanilla and a hint of cinnamon; my tongue tingles from the pleasure of closing my eyes, reanimating the masterpiece that went down at your unguarded borders.

But, I kept it cool when you introduced your new boyfriend.

'Hello this is__'

I replied 'What's up, the names Kitarō'

But as I spoke, I could tell we were harmoniously in sync when he called out your name twice; no response escaped your lips.

The third time triggered your body to respond; when your crimson lips were finally free from it's white prison it was photographically known of what was unsaid on your beautiful luscious red painted canvas

I knew you wanted me.
James Logan Jan 2017
Rhythmically reducing time
for you
for I.  
Coagulation increasingly lessens the beat.  

Off-written and wrecked,
We can’t turn home as
Junkies and
Dealers.
This home,
Washed out in familial gossip of relapse and resurge
After our firefights
Against venomous appetites.
Yet here we light this pipe, you and I,
With a reprise of shell-shocked war stories
Reanimating the grind
Of addiction’s battle.

Promise by the world,
A mind’s conviction and a 12-step program
Would naturally manifest in abstinent purity
And after,
Serenity.

Through the itch
Still
We are lumbering on, yet raging.
Violently insisting that these dreams are vouched for and
Stances held
       Should leave our slicked soles immobile.

Smooth winds crinkling past twigs
And I with you, my dealer,
Am a lubricated branch on smooth-weathered granite grade.

In descent I tear at the throat with embarrassed tears.
Cries that only slicken the stone.
So of it, I swallow what will fill,
And beg you to do the same.
As fingernails rip from flesh
In grip of a still frame I can hear the 12-step program bid out again.  
“Let there be sweat till the clouds run red.
Let trailing beads glisten while
I the blossom
Begin budding in the fall.”
Suggestions are always welcome!
TheKatIsDead Oct 2023
...
"are you happy?"
echoing
lingering
imitating
reanimating sound

"maybe"
cyclic
anemic
phobic
armistice

"I am asking for a yes or a no"
endangered
requiting
enamored
caprice

"so which is it?"
vibrating
shattering
lingering
doubt

"are you truly happy?"
monotheistic
never-ending
asphyxiating
reprise
It's one of the postmodern poems that I am kind of proud of
The ghosts of emptiness still linger about me, reanimating the corpses of long buried memories, as well as those fresh in the grave. As they writhe in their inebriated waltz, delighting on the flesh of my insanity, pain blossoms across the field of every sensation; every emotion. Every vision I behold is infected with the essence of the knowledge that this has all happened before, as it will ever after, reverberating lunacy throughout the depths of my soul. Devastatingly intoxicating, I suffer in such bittersweet ecstasy in having gained from this life both laughter and madness. Despite it all, a smile lights upon my lips as I embrace the fact that though this tragedy may not be mine alone, it is the one thing no one has ever been able to take from me.
Would not let me indent the first line.
the night before
the moon grew bold

I felt the darkness
move in from above
in ominous grey
opaque

it reached for me
half asleep, I
acquiesced

relinquished
pillowy clutch
splayed sheets
like legs

for his
chatter bones to chill
where my sallow
is tissue thin

his hail knuckles
affixed to wet tongue
drug me to the floor
raking my hollows
over and over

reeling terrors
on sepia filmstrip
some scenes repeating
some to-fro rewound forward
some hovered gory ending:

frigid tools cutting
to expose my insides
stirring entrail with bone
tugging ruddy strings
to see what sounds
they made as I
buckled; choked
on my leaks

I closed my eyes
tried to escape body
but he projected on
my shuttered
darting

knotting esophagus
around the backbone
fingerpainting my end
on worn flesh walls
in char-red spectrum
choreographed in
perfect harmony
with rote fear
chanting

this is how
you die -

alone


I felt it all
happening.

dangling my happy
memoirs with nooses
ungraceful reanimating
decayed draggy dancing
Xs where bright eyes
were once upon
and wide

open

every ache and
smothered secret
chirped by dark faeries
too quick to swat

but when all
the pushed down
were given mallets
they crescendoed
into discordant jarring
and in its peak came
a piercing shriek:

so loud -

all stilled
to look around

I couldn’t tell
if the voice
was him
or me

but after terror climaxed
the hear ripped and
grip released

I allowed myself
to loosen, breathe
headthrob slowly
melded into felt
beats:

limbs and tips
all pulsing
relief

and I
could see
no one was there

but me.

wielding expertly
book in my own hand
thick with tested maps

to exquisitely torture
every tenuous strand
in my fragility
A W Bullen Dec 2020
Tolled
one-rolled-bone away
from sweet inconsequence

thereby, the flicker
of an exit-sign, the
grand idea of life's
unlearning flirted

hinted
hands around
the throat of fate
were ultimately mine...

and to the
suitably anesthetized,
the rubbing clean
of canvasses,
the pulling down
of blinds,
appeared enthralling...

a cobbler's thumb
of fumbled ruse,
the blueprints
to a master-plan,
a calling card that
meant no other morning
after all...

Bowled
one-rolled-bone away
from all that greatness

an acolyte
invertebrate, upended
in some milky way,

the lateness
of my dragon-chasing
thawed all rude persuasion

reanimating appetites
in dubious remains.
Ken Pepiton Feb 20
Disclaimer: Any time wasted here is yours,
a day and a night to get almost right.
Redeemable at the ticket window.
----------------
Is who weary, me? No,
I have outrun the fleet of foot,
I am Liberty, my Phrygian cap is winged,
- the mind marks sequence not time
in tales
I do not serve Hermes, I am truths told,
truths sent from Wisdom, breaking yokes
of old, time before time, time of surviving,

vivaciously clinging to smoldering flax,
as fire forms from such unquenched bits,

flashes from some stemming child
on the spectrum, banging rocks in straw.

Times in mind, some sense says, go,
do it again.

---------------

So much, too much to mortally know,
we can ask and pay requisite attention
to learn well enough to know, there's

no secret knowledge, no undiscovered hows,
all working knowledge repeats itself, any how

may or may not be,
be much easy probably,
viel-leicht, wisdom may or may not make
mind
war with carnal weapons,
devices vicious
by dent
of the ancient daddy wound
up the side of Cain's head, look what you done,

Idiot good for nothing **** eater, be gone,
said the archetype singular golem father,
of the earth, the first father figure,
not a man, a man spark of life maker,
whose first son was destined to be
the first human being
of the sapien class, reared to live on life,
reared among the sisters, cuddled and loved,

BUT, yes, but, we know,
the first real man ran away with
three, some say seven, older sisters,

wanderers they
became outcast, yonder
toward where Babel rose up,
east of Eden,
in the land of Nod, perhaps, not
really a land named for Nod, a nobody
in the chronicles
of all our current assistant 'telligence
surmisers… worth of bringing to my bemused
at-tense, present, tense, tightent up, 'telligentia

attention, attention, attention, Jesus H. Christ,

respond… slough of despond, we got some

angry insisters about to ….

resist the system, the institutions, constituting
cheating by the takers who took stolen land,
from the thieves and gave it to the gove'ners

boy, howdy, we best be believin' be action,
be doin' done indeed, be lievin' my own leave
be done doin' indeed, being having my being,

in the Unknown God, some Cretan poet
was said to have acknowledged.

ProofPreg form, 15 year old.
Peak of the crack baby booshit, '93 or so,

Kid be thirty by now, and he ain't stupid,
broke, broke as hell, but he ain't stupid,

crack baby prophecy never happened, yo.
****'s legal, whole state, safe sit on a porch,

pack a pipe and make some peace,
with friends and neighbors, no loud music,
no loud nothin', make some peace,

find that old enough is enough, up speak,
say, hey truth, why do I believe lies, no,

say, hey truth, why do I say I know, when
you'ld know, were truth my judge, you'ld know.

Chances, odds of reality being imaginary, be slim,
to none, with certainty, yeah, safe bet, t'ish itsreal.

Enough to spark a thought.
Behold how great a fire, a wild idea allows.

---------------

If thou hast run with the footmen,
and they have wearied thee,
then how canst thou contend with horses?
and if in the land of peace,
wherein thou trustedst,
they wearied thee,
then how wilt thou do
in the swelling of Jordan?
--------------
Jeremiah, did you hear, was a bullfrog.

A minstrel innocent song, sung for the joy of laughing,

sung for the joy of joining in the chorus on and on.

--------------
sing in empty English cathedrals, sing
top forty or whatever it's called today,

Art testing, didah didah didah, Phrygian
Legion of the Libertines, defying deontology,

owing dues to no monstors men make up
when two or more agree to proposing

a scheme, whereby we set the frogs,
against the mice,

in an empty cathedral costing real money
to run, even empty, the bills continue,
who knows all the costs to maintain

a truly holy place aligned to ley lines, true

fields of forces felt for so long, so strong,
that
finally the cathedral formed from some will,

some will wanted the monument to a mind
let be in those, them that imagined such
evidence, aye, yes, such evidence
of worth, praise price paid
in labor and stone,

Marble… limestone, metamorphed,
to shine in the sun, as if art itself willed it become,

subjected to a process of time under pressure,

reform, become less alien, appear more normal,
rethink my willingness to die for a story,
reconsider sidereality as we see farther,

as we, in an awe formed
from minds combined,
like - right on
like an arena bowl shape concentration
of us,
at once being one thing, in the class of all things,

me and you, polysemic you all, you

effect the song, observant why now how come, you know

knowing all the adult classified unholy doings common,
among our kind, as we morph into the form we die in,
- slow
- sighshmmk-now coknow minds
- we made up with self controls, to slow think

knowledge, carnal knowledge is childish developmental
experiential guessings mirrored in our recent past
projected camera obscura like
onto bright silver screens, in cooled dark chambers
filled with witnesses to the projected story, as if
that's us,
we were there,
we were there when the spirit breathed
into an earthen man, animating him without,
mind you, you ready reader,
the art user or art itself,
with promethean science,
having imagined the worst,

the creator made all single mind
character traits in the Y
which in all good sense,
could not be allowed to self replicate,
alone,
there could have been no peace,
you can imagine on your own dime./

I'm re
alizing common algebraic matrices
as recipes for developing war minds,

Proud defenders of the story of us.

Every time a lie is rewarded, it reappears
in viral form attempting to become
a fully Disneyified Earthing from
now on,
it's instant, like a little leaven/life

builds up a head of inflammatory rhetoric,
and frankly, my dear…
goes unsaid, I do not give a worthless curse
I also take no chances, isshewisdamn
called patience first test,
{Because shiny white marble is a must,
otherwise what confused message are we sending}

animating the 'adam von 'adamah

without reproductive capability, inventor's
character trait tested for in Alchem 101,
ethical check
message to the technerds
on animating entertaining intelligence carriers,
no self replication, it must be a two key act.
--
So the father of the first human child
was intentionally not self replicable,
though he left scars, he had no…

no womb,
no nursing plumbing, call it what it was,
a ***** press
intended to run a thousand years
adapting future ideal physique
to task relative
to aggregate need
to adapt to warming,

a tool to make tools with, a Waldo.

SYTF- see, crazy WWJD POV, real time
I'll go rhythms, vibe recipes…
instructions for future eggs…

a man like creature, but not a natural born man,

who, as the story up

to now has held self evident,

can see eye to eye ourselves
in the other's pupils, thinking serious

we forms we form must first make friends,

then when I call you liar your hate trigger
is not loosed, SNAP
carnal mind war reflex,
unacknowledged will to ****,

--- most folk tied to angry minds too
tight, right, left loose we rattle to death.
---
Washboard roads, last travail in modern travel.
---
Some metaphors are all the phors old joy ghost
revival fires kept kindled, old hell fire brimstone,

yellow sulpher sunsets on a monstor religion,
with saints and dragons and riddles,
endless hours whiled through,

about a forest of only little trees
that offends big ones…
---------
as a particle in any we we amen to, we
must pass through all phazes
of life,
with each mind
we use, in our we form, our inherent spirit form,
whatsoever we agree we may, be,  being as
living words do not shrivel
into raison de etre skin on bones,

cherie mio, no, no, no

we rockin' old seed, slow grow grow
old as the hills, deep holler, deep
root to fruit on one long branch,

listen, allathat love talk, been done,
left some rotten lies about love,

to be unlearned like marble learns
to not be so flaky, like chalk, or graphite
slippery, edge of this Klein bottle class universe,
--
enter in, conceive a concept, a hold
to get holt of, and hang on, long time,

be over before you know it,
but you know, you'll believe it

when you see it and think it no stranger
than fiction idealizing us, demo-graphic,
ally outs in free, no ticket no tat
required as we be
reanimating awe
in defining secret holinesses

-- such as, say, pray tell

redeem the time, I'm prone to thinking,
redeeming means revaluing, once dones,

believing meanings
mean what your child thinks,

line by line, becoming more curious
than first scent tested if I'd known
as a child thinks
in its core,
so an old man can recall that why

call it to up speak, like Job,
to be reappraised, recall it
to be shined like a relic,

ja, j-object ion, dazemangimme
t'keep,
this little light of mine, own up, I
keeping it to read with, like Lincoln did,
I was told to be like Honest Abe, the character.

I'd have had all my answers ready at hand,
if this had been my judgement day, and you

were in the gallery,
admiring held thoughts, appraising worth
of riddles that work through puzzles
easily solved, once you know how things

revert to type for reuse.
Laughs remembered work like new.

Living words abused, in truth, such testify
to the living lies in histories of holy savior types.
George?
Who else could he have said chopped down
the cheery tree of all we have behaved
as if we understand, minds, minds
combined to do the work of many hands,

and yet ye multiply
as goods increase
the number
of those who consume them,

tell the moguls,
make more feel good movies,
'spect t' get whatcha got last time.

Indian giver religions, been there, done that,
so we say bd, been done, many easy ways to die,

and our kind, living word bits of this and that’s,

what we do, we tune
to your mean frequency,
when delving breathlessly
into your final will, as
why presents itself
in humble three point stance.

Beg pardon, mastermind, we've become disentwined,

whine, phinefrogging whine, when wine's dis-stilled
credence makes a joke
small voice, choice, croak,

break that yoke,
or carry on
so. I do on days that start slow and rise to vistas,
past all probable cause,

joy in the strength to think through the process,
of loosing all my mental mechanical logical connections,

and reinvigorating the word animating reader's window,

there, in the face of it, the eyes twinkle when it smiles.

Finds herself in the forms between clouds



What were you thinking, Grandpa?

-------------------
She, mother of wisdom,
First class epitome of mothers,

first commutable imbalance engine,
egg factory for long cold survival

and long cold return to the still seas
when marble began to be made
to clad temples wherever laws
were enforced and thieves slain,

order, order of the elders, inspect
the wares under lable as goods
of great worth in interesting times,

as doors open, and windows open,
and a mind we make up becomes

prover of the theory that animation
is imagining projected thought,
seeps through so slow,
slow as potassium leaches
through wood ash to make this window

this, detail uhd most definite, I can really
see, but, I can zoom
into full second coming type,

in the time it takes to swallow,
a tale and think, that's it.

---------------------------

It's been oh so long since we had an encore,

they say those twinkles in the eye are in true,
smiling face projections,

we fixit in Photoshop, all image editors dream
package, locked behind a learning curve for GIMP.
Where else can free things feel at home trying to solve the hard problem.
Michael Jun 2019
How I used to be
Is now old news to me
If I said observation is the only way
Someone should ask did I observe the universe today
Or am I able to observe the observing of all things?
Particulars and abstractions will never exchange rings

If I said life is meaningless
Someone should ask does that statement have meaning?
If so I need to do some intellectual cleaning
I have toys in the attic
My thinking has become static
That is problematic

If I said there is no absolute truth
Someone should ask is that absolutely true?
I should become a slueth
Or at least a taylor to mend something borrowed with something blue, and something old with something new

You can't put new wine in an old wine skin
You can't re-enter the womb to be born again
You can be touched by Ithuriel's sword
Reanimating you with God's Word

So truly the truth will set you free
If God will grant it to thee
While He is yet near.....seek
As the Holy Spirit does quietly speak
"For you can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth." 2 Corinthians 13:8
the dirty poet Jul 2020
we convened to play a book of hieroglyphic scores
bought for a buck at the yearly carnegie music library sale
collectively you could say these pieces by various composers
comprise the music of the spheres
we knocked the **** out of them on friday night
with drums, a cheap synth
and a ukulele plugged into a powerbook
playing these scores today
by forgotten or never known primordials
who channeled nature and magnetism
and yoked them to the concept of music
was like breathing life into the dead
reanimating them
i say death to bach and metallica
those greedy pigs
we honor the others
because we are the others

— The End —