Rocks, leaves, pottery shards, broken board overturned in search of luminous word that might ease a poem through tension of page …
Month: November 2017
Excess
The temptation of flamboyant self-lacerating words.
Excess or Word Bomb2
What’s with your endless
and obsessive word take-downs,
in / out the frozen half-pipe page
of big-aired snowboard frays;
the gory glory gallery gawking,
the razor-edged play/replay,
the icy drifts of slow-mo mocking snow
and self-slicing words.
The word flay pays dividends in readership / followship,
its pain / despondency / despair exploded sweet against a sour blue;
you caustically describe, inscribe, intaglioo
your algorithms crystalline;
you recut, resplice, rephrase,
refine, respline, pin pull, toss off
oft in brilliant triple double roll
with inverse somersault,
fate fault-spelled, a carved crash craved
again, again.
I soft-shoe and compliment your art’s excess
with mine: Nothing exceeds like excess.
Fillière © 11 20 2017
Word Bomb
What just happened here? A non-word Word Bomb happened here.
No Strut; No Stuff
Strut is never/neither
my settled social game
nor ruse.
Strut is in the bristle
of the eye, the ear, the fan
of the peacock’s
blown abuse.
No.
No …
I don’t know strut …
I don’t know strut
until I draw
and then …
it is no flaw
but ease of use,
the old confidence of flow,
that little bit of con with quill, with pen …
a feathered airborne con of thought
once pen-knife cut
and carved
at calamus.
Calamitous
my drawing now
if non-aero engineered;
it cannot find its lift,
won’t fly
without its strut.
No strut; no stuff.
Fillière © 11 12 2017
November Light
November night, November need, the bleed of light our planet’s blue and feckless flight from sun, and the meaning we ascribe for optimism’s sake.
fillière 