want to listen, want to hear what this chair is saying to that. feel here is a once-in-a-lifetime chance of over-hearing table wood communicating with an old door bleached of suffocating paint.
the Large Glass breaks
and in the right places
the copy also
and in the right places
the copy also
silent, She isolates.
Her eyes pin me to the crucifix wood of the floor. Randomly probing, they divide into dark estuary shadows, squeeze inside most of my most ecstatic fears. Job done, her eyes close tight, like stitches fusing disconnected bits of skin, like rivets that only flesh in flames can melt. She leaves, taking with her significant particles that belong to me; pieces I miss. I mean, really miss.
why?
i only ever saw her once again. but once again those translucent eyes stripped me bare, even. body runs away but her fixed look remains. unexpected guests, i on one side of the reconstruction, she on the other. Large Glass. ‘The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even’¹. i am pulped, will, through all time, pour through that symbol of a coffee grinder; complex love machine that can never work, that frustrates those who join in, who want more than desire. joined without contradiction, empty of each other, we remain, and forever will, unresolved protagonists. i alone. U alone. we yearn even for what is not ever possible.
Her eyes pin me to the crucifix wood of the floor. Randomly probing, they divide into dark estuary shadows, squeeze inside most of my most ecstatic fears. Job done, her eyes close tight, like stitches fusing disconnected bits of skin, like rivets that only flesh in flames can melt. She leaves, taking with her significant particles that belong to me; pieces I miss. I mean, really miss.
why?
i only ever saw her once again. but once again those translucent eyes stripped me bare, even. body runs away but her fixed look remains. unexpected guests, i on one side of the reconstruction, she on the other. Large Glass. ‘The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even’¹. i am pulped, will, through all time, pour through that symbol of a coffee grinder; complex love machine that can never work, that frustrates those who join in, who want more than desire. joined without contradiction, empty of each other, we remain, and forever will, unresolved protagonists. i alone. U alone. we yearn even for what is not ever possible.
even he knows it
iconography of sex
always comes between
iconography of sex
always comes between
again again again U writhe, turn me on a spit of indulgence. again, i bare U stripped bare, smile back grimly, even.
¹ La Mariée mise à nu par ses Célibataires, même.....Marcel Duchamp 1915-23
by Stanley Pelter
Claypole, Lincolnshire, England
Claypole, Lincolnshire, England
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