Raw Goods

Who Are You?

Are you real? / Speak a marble mask, you can use those teeth. / Made by lace collars, buck-toothed chaps pound them. / Where is the line with you? / You can reach before you fall stumble / before brick walls crumble / her pock-marked eyes will run out of air. // Yes, but not always / fall into absurdity. Godless sodomites / exhibit not less over me. // Do it like that.

Is our fighting in vain? What is this for? Little by little I want my body to disappear. To beg the truth. Blood runs down his arms and face. He grasps empty hands below the murky hollows that used to hold his eyes. You look, pass the mouth - it evidences incommensurability like a cave which had been a necropolis since prehistoric times. "Memory had nothing to do with skin," said a feathered snake dancing in stone. Let the outside to be like the inside, and thatched roofs will cover earthen huts. Ideas cannot be proven, nor summed up, and gestures towards primitivism remain intolerated.

Rocks pile into a lion shape. A pyramid crumbles on the horizon. "I'm happy. I'm useless." Four men in loincloths push a block of stone up a sandy incline. "We believed, falsely, that there was this huge group of beings out there, called gods or aliens, who would understand." Muscles ripple down a man's abdomen. He holds his elbows out and clenches his hands at his waist. "Hello? Hello...hello?" A spindly woman in a pointy hat crosses her eyes, grins toothily, and lifts her wrists above her tilted head. Next to her, a wrinkled barmaid leans one elbow on the wooden talble and shakes a sagging fist below her folded scowl. "Bring me sweet dreams, and help me be good tomorrow."

posted by judy j @ 10:56 AM