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Submitted on
September 22, 2011
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10 (who?)
it was often violet and an argument for compression
the cities redraft in a shale from which
all ideology and unchecked airport baggage pour
like oil through the layers which is how archaeologists tell time,
so I ask the psychonaut if his people know and he says
we embed poets to report on the wars, sometimes
a sediment constructed entirely of heroes will open
deep in a desert nobody named so i ask again and he says
and then the poets come home and try to write
but all we get are bills and soft plays about girls who die
on an airplane in a dream and when they wake
everything is actually blue except blue is actually violet,
and then another hit and the airplane drops 298 feet
so that by the time your soul catches up to you in a cold swell of water
you will have already become the photographs that remind your family of empty fields.

* * *

he thinks of words like retrovirus in a foil revival
by refined supercriticals until revolutions occur frequently
on each wall like pre-depression film and through this aperture
girl sitting at the edge of the bed defines synapsis in visual medium
by throwing her arms around the first extinct thing that arrives in the room.

he also thinks of words like revival as she feeds the news an electric commentary
on the delusion of God and the lunacy policy which was to be effected
pending the regulation of light from inside the theater which looks
something like a spinning wheel fire cracker dragging ghosts around
a motel like the muffled protracted booms which follow falling bodies.

he also thinks of words like violet in waking suddenly from a woman
who speaks fried the soft language of television which predates
every recorded usage of this chemical by defunct Gods who themselves
were unsure what it means when the sky is layered in successive shades of purple.

* * *

redressing the country required many more tones of violet than were possible.
the rebels resigned themselves to repeating how beautiful things are,
until the radical agenda became the status quo and everyone agreed,
for their children's sake.

he'd have said it's like the parable of the fish who does not know it is in water
until a young jeffrey dahmer is holding it in his hands,
"god forbid our children experience this insurgency of brightness-
they will riot in the streets."
Smoke trees everyday.
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you will have already become the photographs that remind your family of empty fields
phaedrus341 Oct 9, 2011
This keeps getting better every time I read it.
englandrain Oct 6, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
I don't know what it is about your writing, but I like it.
silverfleckedlullaby Oct 6, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
And this could go on and on in a never ending string of image after image after image and I would keep reading, lost in the beauty of your synthetic wordplay.
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