Tuesday, October 14, 2008

A Paupers Bath By Augustine


A Pauper’s Bath

I. Corpus: Sacred Precincts
Inverse precocity
Fear and excuses, fear and excuses
Words resting in your throat
I’m all skin and bones
Words waiting for an opportune moment
To be expressed
A series of empty fifths
An aria to an off key obligato
Incidental appendage of darling passions
Accommodate comforting mistruths as I deem fit
Neurasthenia, elation before the flood
The clouds gather in brooding bunches above
A herald of fertility
The condemned revel in the plummeting drops
Sleeping beyond the alarm
Above the din of crying children in the next room
Planting themselves before a television set
Running into each other at pivotal points in one another’s lives
A world of non-practicing historians
And loves
Are still forgotten
Willed into a purgatory fit for the avaricious
Is astonishment still possible with each
and every lay historian walking to their car
Buying a cup of coffee
Working at their desk
Talking on the phone
Lives, lives, lives
Lingering in the suffocating shade of southern memories
Wanting to reconquer their childhood empires
To establish new imperialistic outposts on a foreign body
-Going somewhere
-An appointment with someone?
The awe and ease of others
Gewissenbisse
Strained relations and
A moment of affirmation gone terribly awry
A thirst for affirmation
Brings soldiers to their knees
Black—grey—white
The barest of bones
Thinnest of veils
All God’s children greedy for some kind of heaven
I am faithfully attached to a plagiarist

II. Corpus: Senile Sensualist
Abattoir: Sentences suspended like meat on a hook
Curing fleshy words so they can be devoured tenderly
With the least bit of strain on the stomach, jaws, esophagus, upper/lower intestines, teeth, tongue—a pleasant taste, suits her palette
Quandoquidem. Since when was undique mort est?
I know you heard it, you just chose to ignore it.
Tomorrow new measures, fresh pastures—for now, adhaesit paventium
An appeal to my vanity, “there is no greater measure of a man than the measure of his mind”
What good is that couth gesture without the invasion of space
Veracity of timeless tongues seeking a forgotten archetype
The act of desperation that wants to find precedent in the
Ancestral other, that timeless other


III. Nubile Nymphet
Woman seated, lonely, disconsolate on the hood of her car/heavy traffic.
Constantly shifting background, the bus stops, exhales as it rests to pickup passengers/the Priapific vision, homeless black man flanked by two foreign Japanese girls giggling in stereotypic fashion at the bulge in his stereotypically endowed sweatpants
Fecund/virgin/luck/quip
African ethnicity has not been a great concern of modern historians?
“the spirit of the master is abating, the slave is rising from the dust”
Sabine learned cruelty from her father, correction, Sabine learned to be cruel by being cruel to her father
A precocious masochist, jutting tenderfoot into the torso of an accommodating father, imagined spurs, it was all instinctual, she had never heard of spurs or prodding the reluctant along with pain—fauthor and mauthor. κορυθαιλοσ πατροσ wincing and whinnying on command.

“pray you tread softly”
Figurations of a dying Mary.

πασιθεα καλλιστην ευϕροσυνη

“Pray you tread softly”.
Love, forgiveness, joy, joie et luxe.
Joy is a luxury.

“There is nothing but calm, splendor, and delight”
αποκαλυπτοσ. Eros in identification. Tiresias you celebrated harlot
Prancing along the corners and frequenting places of Johns.
What snakes are there in the city to slay other than the snakes that lay in frustrated trousers?
I hope he uses protection or the soothsayer is doomed.
Cibum et potions et delicae.
-Quelques empechement.
-Vraiment?
-Moins que rien!
Beatific scent.
Faint taste of urine and sanctimonious bodies.
I’m not impressed with the mess you’ve made of me.
An honest face and a sinking feeling.
Inviolate visage/misleading beacon
We’ll dream of London sometimes.
It’s the body’s own reasoning/reckoning.

IV. Corpus: Ex Corpus
I detest those that run their lives with economic tidiness. Yet I am fascinated with the hyper-rationalist—people who attempt to limit their lives to the confines of scientific rigor and deny the irrational on the grounds of reason.
God doesn’t have to deal with the consequence(s) of man
Finger licking libertines
De belois bolsters the road, travestis bolster surrogate sheets

V. Corpus: Oneiros Philotes
Youthful vigor? You mean uncontrollable erections and romantic longings?
No. I think
I’ve suffered my fair share of heartbreak and hard-ons for now.
The only emotions you’ve known were/are
Fear and drunkenness
The latter is the only one I warrant an emotion

VI. Corpus: Grand Mal
Son of a baker: doughy physicality attributed to his yeasty lineage.
(T,W,t, L, F, H, L, a, L, C) this used to mean something but I forget what?
Modern eloquence. In my dreams women don’t resist me.
A sketch of a male torso, mine I presume, in the middle of waiting pages, and a sketch of the way she always wanted to look.
Mon dieu, send some tyranny upon the land.
Mon dieu, set some misguided visionary potentate upon the earth, who will be directed by a dream and will send the ships away from the shore.
Mon dieu, the liminal, not the ephemeral.
Mon dieu, νεϕελεγερετα
In all your ancient manifestations, relocate, this town is gentrified.
Heir to a scullion’s throne.

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