Languages
Content Who? About us Events Submissions Submenu
« back

Sand and Sentinel

John K. Peck (2016)

Scales form, and we

can spring for a new skin: this wasteful framework, this requiem,

fools all of heaven and hell.

 

Incendiary fall, proto-dream, palaces

in hail and snow.

 

So be fools of Isis, that our simple waste may shift spirits away.

 

All owls love dreamworlds, but hate bearing witness out of spite—

birds’ wild decollage.

Whatever I feel

it’s always blond in the end,

she takes our information to rent a movie, then gets off free: so lifelike.

 

Her program in style waits, like the tree

from Pinocchio. Her feet dolorous, shavings, pages, photos

motion-blurred, decorated with beads.

Fame,

 

a dreadful Turing machine.

We wanted to connect the circuits,

but God, he of the conflict, went on his way.

 

Go, phantom limb, heart, head, run away, play

awhile. David went walking, lost a thumb. I found it waiting, carbon-burned, we had a feeling the sad irridescence of Earth

was at our feet.

 

Incidental art

forevermore, we failed at the foot-race, after the long run to play, Chlytemnestra’s hymn

cantilevers awake.

 

Musical calls go up, spines out, they wept on their feet. Whales escape despite their pods.

 

A wavering in the lowest register kneeling, tall as dreams,

 

seas always drown

the truth.

 

 

Google Translated into 7 languages, back through English each time, then translated homophonically English to English

 

≡ Menu ≡
Homepage Content
Events Submissions
Authors Translators Moderators
About us Partners Gallery
Contact Blog Facebook
Festival 2016 Events Press