Wednesday, 19 February 2014

45. In the Mist of the Occasion

to blow
apart excess
this noise
these lines
disturbance read
a part
just apart
a hum

[spanish song
a rhythm
it clicks
it bounces
a part
to gether
come back
come back
sticking here
your boots

oh raw
rawness now
in silence
still sublimation
dirt remains
mist above
where then
in this
the explosion?

gone all
the burning
pain and
demand’s wound
like brass
allowed dissonance
here pattern
will resume
silent, silent
only people
only sounds

shouts above
onward more
forward again
we fly
from nowhere
same one
this is
what is
many times

no one
riots but
eats pies
without gluten
feel bitter
nerves shrivel
no need
to write
just listen
these languages
social good
thank you

need lighter?
I’m sick
at moment
a song
I know
I know
I know
what then?
or no?
what is?
we won
we won

what are
you eating?
(not from
my friend
the musician[1]
who writes
Mahler anew
but someone
else entirely

last bit
of coffee
only words
now left
the foam
on fluid
now then
of Guantanamera
ha! how
cruel chance
plucks up
as capital
raw power
consumed this
to frighten
all others
like us
the voice
sings lonely
warm seas
melancholic now
will rise
somehow triumphant
something given
through play
of history
crashing up
a wave
it breaks
this occasion
its mist
its cold
foam then
the pain

[1] Anna Scott

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