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Thursday 10 April 2014

Christine Murray


I heard him
he was washing the world,
unseen, nightlong, real.
One and infinite,
Light was. Salvation.’

-- Paul Celan
a gift of Bataille's poems
cock balls spurt penis-eye
rubbing up
a / vulva
his great brass bell ringin'
as he attempts to tongue
woman(s) soul/ at her hole
his own (...)

a transference of
the empty eye/ I
into the i
of ied,
and cold through.
to arise
but there is no more
blood - cock it !


Scene I : sphinx
cat properly addressed as riddle is a sphinx,
toothed warm fur claw (ed)
nobly in-dreaming he (of heads?)
or of mice maybe (and not silently)
lover not properly addressed
too dreams (elsewhere from here)
he dreams gold or red heads (emanant)
emanant: for their reddish auras are tumbrelled
he fingers red…
sphinx cat lies on my egyptian cottons,
I find the heads.
& my lover’s red
is a wish-tree


Scene 2 : the goldberg variations

that indestructible piano!
the undestroyed Goldbergs are playing (again)
wending their tones above a skatepark of bullet-glass
the melodies play, yes

I see that :

the romans had left their life-size eggs and urns below the city
my stitches pull and sting on the underside of my elbow (pain)
softening the blow here and here you tell me that
there is no stitching (as again) there was no magician -
he is always the hanged man (stasis)
or as you (may have) whispered, mercury -

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