Submission Guidelines

Saturday 19 January 2013

Paul Corman-Roberts

Beneath a Madrone tree, on a cloudless winter afternoon bathed in orange particulate sunlight, I watch a naked soldier beat a horse to death with his bare hands.
Two blows: One to the neck - one to the throat, bring the beast down to its haunches, down to the earth.
The soldier is beautiful, with untamed hair framing massive shoulders.  He leaps upon the back of the creature who resists not once: collapsing, submissive as though it has died while still standing.
A soldier’s beautifully carved muscles pummel in and out of what remains of the animals face; becomes blood, black & spackle caked up to his bulging forearms. The naked soldier flies into tantrum and finishes by stomping the dark, pulpy mound attached to the sleek waste of equine muscle.
Finally the naked soldier relents; his knees falling into the dark pulpy mound, and proceeds to cover his legs; his torso; his head with the blood, black & spackle & then rises, feet together, arms spread wide above his head & turns to face the hungry orange particulate orb in the sky.
The orb stares back dispassionate, unslaked & remembers to the soldier: 
I know.                                  I know.

Only happen
In combustion engines
Or turntables.
Notice a thread?
Revolutions don’t go anywhere
but in circles
and more circles.
I’d rather sign up
For the mighty cyclone
Just ask Dorothy
They can liberate you
From the gray Kansas plain
To poppy fields
in turn
make you yearn that much more
For the desolation.
Yes, I’d much prefer to feed
From the hard truth
Or stay dizzy on the mechanisms
Of the old Victorian drive
To conquer still life
The fifth wall
the void
and anyone who has engaged
in revolutions
knows what that is.

Paul Corman-Roberts spent the night of the Rodney King Riots barricaded inside a Circle K Convenience store, at that time, the fifth largest convenience store chain in the USA.

No comments:

Post a Comment