"UV Blues" really staggered me, it's a beautiful piece of work. small &
momentary but strong in subtle language. when I can write agin this is akin
to what I want to be able to do.
KS
On 7 August 2010 04:13, Frederick Pollack <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> UV Blues
>
>
> Her limbs are as firm as math.
> She wears three ironic triangles.
> Her eyes repeat the sea.
> A faint and faintly damp
> blond down extends the aura
> of her hair. Her lips
> do not leave the yogurt cone
> they kiss, but if they did,
> would speak essences.
>
> The lone, arrested wave
> extrudes not foam but hands,
> reaching and pointing.
> Other beings on the beach,
> nonviable in this medium,
> are subliminal smoke.
> Though the rotation of the planet
> is stilled, two are not harmed
> though one is ordinary.
>
> Meanwhile the smile exists.
> Till a phone rings that offers
> the ever-immanent Other,
> his imbricated bêtises,
> charms, and money.
> That sound was always there.
> The being beside her
> lets sand sift
> through his hand, wishing time would return.
>
>
>
>
>
> It’s Alive
>
>
> 1
>
> Universal ruin doesn’t faze
> the zombies. They think
> (so to speak) a field has been cleared
> so they may freely assemble,
> demonstrate.
> Except for hunger, they are free from pain.
> As they mill, bump, parts
> sufficiently rotted, or burnt
> by things still burning or searingly
> melting, drop; the rest falls,
> groans more, moves more awkwardly.
> Crows are too high, rats too fast,
> roaches hard for their poor hands to catch;
> and the zombies think it’s unfair
> there are no brains left.
>
> In herds around them, meanwhile, vampires
> have adopted the umbrella phalanx
> and the shared tarp, and scuttle
> in shadow beneath these, squealing
> and bitching. They too
> recognize no
> responsibility. Sing their thirst, the total
> inadequacy and
> betrayal of all beings
> below them; that is their art.
> Periodically one or another drops
> its umbrella or ducks
> out from beneath the tarp to take
> a short walk in the sun;
> that is their spirituality.
>
> Surviving humans, unsurprisingly,
> are soldiers. And have learned,
> though late, how to
> inoculate themselves against
> the undead: they weep.
> Constantly. Sincerely,
> like a living fountain for all
> the living and unliving.
> It acidifies the blood, changes the brain.
> Which doesn’t mean these puffy-eyed
> sharpshooters ranged in the rubble
> for this final battle
> have forgotten how to put
> one in the head or in the heart.
>
> 2
>
> The brilliant scientist is no fool.
> The contacts may be placed
> absurdly on the whorls and
> protrusions of the monster
> on the gurney. The flatlined
> monitors may lie.
> He’s armed , the scientist, and never
> wholly diverts his attention
> from the body. The general,
> though a mind steeped in protocol
> the event offends, glares steadily
> at a claw. Data flows to his ear
> from the site. Whether deep
> undersea, or in ice, or a cordoned
> field of strange non-metal,
> it represents a power that
> will be matched, will be *crushed.
> The soldiers also know the score,
> their rifles on full automatic, leveled.
> If I used eyes they’d be shut.
>
>
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