What Bone Looms They Sewed Themselves Into

Above bleggalgazing anthem number two, yesterday Blogroll Amnesty Day, bullets from traditional post, last posted three years ago below

* Jon Swift did me Kind multiple times - some of you still here found me via Jon

*BAD reminds me annually of blogs whose club I joined, all of us competing to be noticed by Liberal Blegsylvania's overlords and invited to that far more prestigious club.

* Then my obamapostasies, my democratectomies. I let my membership lapse

*I hope it is still Blogroll Amnesty Day on some of those blogs still alive.

*Thank you those still here who found me back then via Jon, Kind, you.

*It's BAD - if there's someone / someplace you think I might / oughta please let me know.

*Bleggalgazing Anthems One and Two (Anthem One the most-posted video here - longtimers can vouch).

 

Format and tablet	obsessed me why is	tablet this tablet	true and ancient false	bereft of first drafts	biological	Which is why I say	fuck it. Motherfuck
and compatible comet	motherfucking Ariel	Everything is paraphrase	more cleverly than I can	the desperate resort to grids	defintion emphasized	I'm just gonna cathole here	ing Ariel, fuck uses...
fail most when yes bang	goog's sheets' default font?	This blog *is* the poem	Actions on the ground	elimination	This place or no place	Tablet this tablet	Theme Song # 1 VVV

Rest in Peace Clayton Eshleman

Two Eshleman poems

Dot

Tjurunga

 

SILENCE RAVING

Clayton Eshleman

Patters, paters, Apollo globes, sound 
breaking up with silence, coals 
I can still hear, entanglement of sense pools, 
the way a cave might leak perfume--

in the Cro-Magnons went, along its wet hide walls, 
as if a flower in, way in, drew their leggy 
panspermatic bodies, spidering over 
bottomless hunches, groping toward Persephone's fate:
to be quicksanded by the fungus pulp of Hades' purple hair 
  exploding in their brains.

They poured their foreheads into the coals and corrals 
zigzagged about in the night air--
        the animals led in crossed 
a massive vulva incised before the gate,
the power that came up from it was paradise, the power 
the Cro-Magnons bequeathed to us:
to make an altar of our throats.

The first words were mixed with animal fat, 
wounded men tried to say who did it.
The group was the rim of a to-be-invented wheel, 
their speech was spokes, looping over, 
around, the hub of the fire, its silk of us, 
its burn of them, bop we dip, you dip, 
we dip to you, you will dip to us, Dionysus 
the plopping, pooling words, stirred
by the lyre gaps between the peaks of flame, 
water to fire, us to them.

Foal-eyes, rubbery, they looped
back into those caves whose walls could be strung
between their teeth, the sticky soul material pulled to
The sides by their hands, ooh
what bone looms they sewed themselves into, ah 
what tiny male spiders they were
on the enormous capable of devouring them 
female rock elastic word!