Friday February 11, 2011

Sun mediated by a thin wash of cloud lays soft stripes of light atop the snow, as if the air were full of pollen, as if it were August.

7 Comments


  1. Nearly noon, but only a few
    hours since I washed my face
    upon rising. The day needs
    to bloom harder, needs more
    roundness– The swell of plucked
    bandurria strings, the glisten
    of corn chaff flying, soft
    stripes of light dipped in saffron
    wash; this thin milk passing for air
    bursting instead with pollen,
    as if some goddess had carelessly
    flicked the dust off her sandals,
    as if it were August, and all
    she wants is the green-gold
    mango hanging from the tree.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    02 11 2011



  2. as if the noonday devil sprang up in the shitless silence, sun-bronzed, coppergold, ultraviolet, fleshy, 2-headed, sweat-slicked, 3-eyed constrictor, neutered sac swaying, idly-hung, puffy, mealywinged, persnickety, 13 nipples, pointed snout, nagging fiddledaddy, butch wuss, chirpy fiend, slutty, diddling, whimpering, tattooed, idiopathic, seething spume, azimuthal, dianoetic, shived, snow-blind, glaring, blurry, refractive, glistening, shimmering, trippy, gritty, bent-over, drooling, lolling tongue, forked, twitching, hallucinating, disambiguated incubus, dizzy dawn star, electro-static lightning, stabbed –lightening mirage


  3. As if that devil, that incubus, could even get it up with the Diwata risen from the swollen river, as if he thinks they could forget how many times his yellow piss fouled their once pristine waters, not to mention his burnt-out ends, his cigarettes, those reefers reeking from his fetid breath; as if his pyrotechnic sleights of hand could truly (seriously?) pass for lightning; as if those supposedly neutered sacs were harmless coco-nuts playing at vacation on the sands of Bali, Bangkok, Boracay, Batanes, Bauang— anywhere he thinks The women, bro! They’re cheaper than a six pack of beer! so what the fuck prevents his exercise of that so-called God-given right to plunder paradise? He wouldn’t recognize sun-bronzed or copper-gold if he saw it manifest, since the room has gotten crowded: his neon ultraviolet self reflected a thousand ways in the tawdry two-way, three-way, peeping tom mirrors. Incense me, disambiguate with smoke and mirrors: but I can count your 13 nipples, name and split the frenulum under your forked tongue, run the metal through; annotate, footnote, underscore and parse because baby, I have an excellent memory and baby, I have the critical apparatus for that.


      1. Albert: I didn’t take it that way at all! Luisa is a poetic genius, and I am just trying to respond to her (and Dave’s) supreme creativity. You’re up there, too, Albert! Onword!


  4. As if that demon, that diddly-squat gookiness, out of whack, mercurial-manurial slime fungus, impotent asswipe scrounged up, swollen, shrivelled, scorched hindpaw barbules, in an organdie G-string with day-glo, lime-green-chartreuse eyes, grunting nudiped, as if I felt his gnawing damperpedal of upended idioticons, irreal jerke with entrancing prickles and niggling lowjinks, crotchety cackling slang-twang, patois-scrawk, as if I could scarf-up the orkuty, toroid vomit in a charred gristleloin pubic-wig: umbundu grouk, toothpicky bidet dentifrice, iddie-biddie buzzsaw swizzlestick, it’s a whole nother hole, electric cobalt-blue-violet, canned light a-wooing undeciphered tactile tungsten brain-freeze (O tawny-daubed turds), oviduct sot — dust motes, beany, soppy bycockets whumping, blattery thwarting tawdry kaloon, rotting egg stench: eat oreos. Belost for a sexword, wewerewee? blaw i, aukword ijtihad chyme creekbed reexivity secretions panoplie du snob, fundie mulligrubs, datooi hellgrammite, the fustest with the moistest, iold duodenum, sulky sebum downspout…

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