Monday, July 20, 2009

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (8)

One last morning under the pergola we discussed what had happened in the godhead's crucible, but the berries distracted us, we lost the thread, you touched my hand, and we were smoke.

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (7)

Emil Schildt

It was never natural, not cosmic rays unspooling, epic failure of photosynthesis. The lovers were fuse and timer, thrusting seconds home.

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (6)

Jason DeMarte

It was natural. Rivers divorced seas under the aegis of ending, tectonic plates shattered against apartment walls, all evolving closure.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (5)

It was not human. The bridges into the city were empty at midnight, the trains were silenced, bars dark: one great godflash, and lights out.

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (4)

It was human. A double knot in the double helix hardwired them not to fate but inevitable accident: one molecule awry, everything collapses.

Re-runs of the Apocalypse (3)

Alexy Titarenko

It was no one's. A destroying wave passed through Being, positron to pulsar, invisible, unknown to them as they removed each other's skin.

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (2)

a voice from the grave

It was not theirs. The boundaries betrayed them. Out of the core of their argument a shape arose, arsenical whirlwind, last word.

Re-Runs of the Apocalypse (1)

skeleton lovers

It was theirs. They stood by the water at dusk, lovers scarred by the violence of their alchemy, transmuting the darkness at the skyline.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Biography of Eros (7)

John William Waterhouse

Entropy, etiolation, emptiness: Nothing left but the bed, and the lovers on the bed, and the galaxy surrounding them, dark matter ascendant.

Biography of Eros (6)

Emil Schildt

Inside the penumbra there was no dying--death, yes, always, but no motion except the back and forth of the body, the thrust, and the scream.

Biography of Eros (5)


In the dream words were absence. An empty book had contained all truth but for one false letter. He, or was it she, read the other's shadow.

Biography of Eros (4)

William Blake

They knew it was insanity, and accepted it, but differently. One thought: madness, endlessly. The other thought: madness, finally.

Biography of Eros (3)


They wore raptor masks. One used a small flexible whip. Its marks were radiant traces of ichor. Thus the walls of the sanctum were broken.

Biography of Eros (2)

Vlad Gansovsky

Sleeping, one of them moaned. It was the dream of the interpenetration of souls. Death is in everything, crystalline arsenic dissolved in alcohol.

Biography of Eros (1)


The witnessing of things in the mind. But what mind? The lovers lay on the bed, handcuffed, saying Please, and just for a moment he knew.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Assimilation (7)

He now remembers the path forgotten all his life: it leads to a ruined door through which everything vanishes, even the key that opens it.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Assimilation (6)

Human emotion reduced him; every passion wore off a layer of skin, every rage took a subsection of organ. Eroded, he walked through walls.

Assimilation (5)

Part of him was lost,two fingers from the right hand. His music suffered. When he played the piano, there was a shadow in the treble, a deadness.

Assimilation (4)

The walls of the house have thickened, the rooms grown smaller; the foyer is just the size of a mailbox, and he gropes there for his bills.

Assimilation (3)

What he touched penetrated skin and clung, but he did not want to release the pen, sofa, wallet: they defined him as the boundaries faded.

Assimilation (2)

Lovers had become landscape--the woman he knew that ancient summer was lost in a hedgerow, flowering, leaving, framing what could be seen.

Assimilation (1)

Even his fingerprints vanished. His skin smoothed like river stone; his grip on the world diminished. He was sliding someplace frictionless.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Observatory (8)

Over great distance, the mechanism flattens what it reveals: dark matter, an arc of stars, under an arch of oak limbs the lovers, made one.

Observatory (7)

Light gathers in the perfect lens. Its restlessness is such that it cannot remain there, even in perfection: it moves to clarify or destroy.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Observatory (6)

Two lenses moved randomly in her mind until they fell into the right relation. She saw him clearly then, and cursed the perfection of focus.

Observatory (5)

Safe in the great dome, at the end of the tube, she watched her lover at a great distance enter the black hole, and the universe imploding.

Observatory (4)

Tiny figure against the expanse of firmament, seen through the magnifying gaze of something godlike with a cross-hair and an ounce of lead.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Observatory (3)

We lifted the brass tube: moons came into being, planetary rings, such distances that our bodies faded to shadows in the obliterating lens.

Observatory (2)

A bountiful harvest season, everything ripening at the decisive moment, whole galaxies tipped like so many apples beyond the event horizon.


Clear night sky scribbled to the margin with stars--that's the problem: everything is written, no room even for a black hole. And God reads.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Empty House (8)

Soon, but not yet, the incremental creaking of hinges, the end of molecular bonding, release of form: shapelessness in the door frame, soon.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Empty House (7)

That characteristic turbulence, elemental disturbance in the aether, the tureen vibrating on the sideboard invisibly in the vacant hallway.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Empty House (6)

A crack at the center, where even the intelligence of cockroaches was tested: rain eroded the foundation and a simple domesticity entered.

Empty House (5)

The cleaning finally ended. If there were beds, they would never be made; dishes would stay stained in eternity, and gravity be abolished.

Empty House (4)

After the journey, months of wandering through landscapes of bone and salt, we came at last to prairie, a rotting expanse of Persian carpet.

Empty House (3)

In a bathroom drawer there are artifacts: molecules of talcum, dried smear of cat's blood, a lingering odor of unidentifiable ointment.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Empty House (2)

A wind in the desolation of the closet, incremental movement like the shifting of tectonic plates, while in the wall a mouse skull settles.

Empty House (1)

Silence in the house, people gone out, cats sleeping, leafblowers put away, the half life of the crawl space ticking down toward zero.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Schematic (7)

The train enters the tunnel, great piston breaches the oily cylinder, clockwork tide driven to foam on the rocks, and the marriage is over.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Schematic (6)

A rat in the dark attic at midnight, bolt-cutter teeth incising insulation. Black wire, red wire. A spark. The pianist's hands stop playing.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Schematic (5)

Wreckage washed ashore, fragments of fuselage and cowling, seat backs, oxygen masks, and hermit crabs remade themselves of metal and bone.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Schematic (4)

Under the hood where gear meshes integer, in the hamster wheel of the heart, a singularity appears, an homunculus, a social security number.

Schematic (3)

The elevator kept trembling: the mechanism out of key: but the riders held their eyes fixed on the dial, the reassuring arbitrary numbers.

Schematic (2)

The steel ratchet in the wind: she felt it against her corneas, pressing precisely into the metric eye sockets, turning, tightening.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Schematic (1)

Inside the machine is another machine which refers to the machine enclosing it. So he touches her hand, and the image of a child emerges.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Interrogations (9)

That singular point on the continuum from which time reads like an inscribed transparency: just ahead, the hospital bed, the miraculous IV.

Interrogations (8)

Horses in a meadow over strata of loess and limestone, reflections limned through the meniscus of earth by fossilized skeletons of dolphins.

Interrogations (7)

In pinewoods at midnight the trapped weasel gnawing its own leg stops to consider its bitter self-taste.

Interrogations (6)

Dying, by then, seemed normal to her, a breath and another breath and nothing, a stone dropped in water continuing in water to be a stone.

Interrogations (5)

They sat on the bridge rail drinking wine in starlight, watching for meteors to etch their glass-cutter lineage into what passed for future.