"The human face is an empty force, a field..."

The human face is an empty force, a field of death.
-- Artaud


[allegro, sotto voce]


hole or bath an orchid chute for sorry ecstasy
that broth awaits a wind to bear her seedy words as in
a bind and bound for depths of ecstasy
where worship of the shifting face would beat a baculus to in,
an age that time was rare for her
and broth a bone with meat and water maid
samadhi made where dread abacus flies
hymeneal and brute obivion in bacchic faces oscillate
and face disowned in salmon grass
to bring it to a head of late
and head for earth through strangle reed of acrid ecstasy

a rood mignon would have to have

and then recoup the memory

how virgin down alembic masks a taxidermy lovers seek
and fertile mirrors hail
a fishy cab a written down

so you don't want what can be seen
and seem to see desire out
to shroud what is not like itself
in subtle hairshirt transparent
where stud a tusk at dusk is meant
and minarets are penetrant to clotted milk in salty sky

crow an intestate man's effects

pulchritude of naked not
and pitted olive sepulchre
in spectral grass this earth this rot

a labored roar the weed the masks
I did not see your dogma through

underdog my dirty doxy

when an energy that evening swift undressed
articulated want to come
to luminary back to turn

itself again, a liminary
stone the words in father drive

She gone now now not mourn her




so slept fingers forced into the eyes

bare except for mask and speak
into an urn of air

and there a girl is getting in

-to the sky & one of her

makes it


how cornflower so drooled a thigh
is thrown over gibbous moon

fallen in spermatic snow


the others left her

all of them