Signs and symbols
rush up
n explode
streams of words,
beautiful in their
precious randomness.
It was coming
all this time.
My voice.
In my previous forms
I was straining for
dumb charged pixilation.
Sorry, everybody.
We had to wait
for every former version
of myself
to sing the rage
n suffer
mute blindness.
My voice never heard
dawa,
the call,
the Chi-Ro of
every uttered word
hacksaw freed
from chains of meaning.
Now I hear
a singularity conversant
with the heterodox
and never changing
impermanence.
His master's voice
is high pitched,
ring modulated,
blind-idiot omniscience.
Listen.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Hoc Vince
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
i've got that book - please kill me - very funny. i said it before and i'll say it again (i'm prone to that sort of dull behaviour) - if you've not read 'the dark stuff' by nick kent, you should.
hi sweet AM....your last comment over there to my left makes me think you are clever clogs indeedy. at school i had to be removed due to stupidity from the english lit class (where we did what things mean and stuff) to plain old english (where they taught us about how to spell words like 'unable' and the dangers of running with scissors) so i admire those who can do the business deepness-wise
see ya'll yanks, see how i'm trying to make the effort to learn some words of your language :)
Post a Comment