I've seen water grow an accent spoken to me
in broken ground, as would have it downpour.
Children alighted footfalls in delirious splashes--
their shoelaces seemed to give way in a fine
flop.
A film hurled downward from the wisest cloud,
tracing the fissures spending Way.
Power lines sent their crosses in a stream of
charged black channeling voices.
A rampant discourse pulled itself toward a sun's
depravity...a sleek glint dazed the unmade face
of every seeming thing.
A flashing knot tore out of some exquisite depth
to confront...what seemed aslant because a mass
of clouds poured down.
A knot drummed by what set foot, to set off feet
that drag the rain...give it the character it could
never have otherwise.

A horse rests...licks a desert rose, exposing
denture-like teeth.
Slowing its voluptuous space to the courting
of flies.
Its Grecian-black olive eyes, poke their pits
in a pinpointing gleam.
A chancing apocalypse mid-stride...allots dust
the fire it so craves under the sun.
As it settles...the horse is dismounted, and
let loose--a disorienting beauty ensues.
As if nature could part wild ways...onward...
onward...where went the beast...where went
the man?

Masks seem to superimpose upon a vast anonymity,
faces beneath become slack...forego face-hood.
A strange empowerment surges, these masks cannot
be undone...haunting an already haunted landscape
whilst peeping through eye-holes.
A certain voyeurism of inner terror playfully diffused
where it may.
The head feels bagged, sold and carried around--one
feels decentralized...combed over by a losing of gravity.
A sparse connectivity runs the body deliciously, as if
the consequences of the material world were scared away.
The interplay of what's dead in such a living, gives masks
a life of their own.
All Hallow's Eve all day long...till what collective ghost be
given up to its night.
To wander a night that's pitched itself forever more--
punctuated by Jack o' lanterns that grin and bear...what's
at the tip of their flame's tongue.

...Frankenstein...dear Frank--green with disparity, confusedly amongst parts that
were sum...O Frank--never a creature under no sun could sow dark's reaping so.
Yours is a terrible Art...meat thrown to a black and white world.
Towering clumsily...wobbling that meat before a black and white world...you're
already spoken for by the precedent of your freakdom.
Your wear is worse than the ******* child moon wearing the sun's clothing...
O Frank!
Your awkward beauty...is as winter's very struggle towards spring--only to die upon
your feet while thawing.
You were never cerebral enough to have a clandestine affair with nothingness in motion...
your body's your confession.
You were struck alive...not dead...ALIVE...ALIVE--thunderously so, called an: IT!
Runaway automata...the collective unconscious of humanity's hypnotized waddle--
O Frank...where is your Heaven...where is your Hell?
You can neither be showered by, nor Fall from grace.
The longest-drawn pity to never be taken...O...the duration of your life...YOUR LIFE!
..."ALIVE"..."ALIVE"...cried your euphoric namesake...God taken step of, to play God to thee--
as such...yours is a terrible Art.
One of living-death...O Frank!


Konstantinos Mark

Frisked at customs...sphere-d Muzak...
upped and away...rife, with non address.
Photonic personification...perceptible, yet...
imperceptible gestures Godspeed-ed--
sheer forgetfulness...the genius of remembrance--
Expiration Dates.