Post by Pseudomuse on Mar 12, 2006 6:01:57 GMT -8
this is a birthday present for a friend, I really need some feedback on the layout and about the spanish part... thanks.
-
(henna tattoos for emily) Edit
dots and circles etched in the skin;
india ink-and-aphonia
and everything, everything spirals
in her heart.
this wonderment.
lapis lazuli is braided betwixt pre-raphaelite curls,
dancing, slight shimmers of the brightest blue;
singing, breathing cords, fabricating
a cocoon made of flats and minors, an asylum
of parchment threads and lyrical indentations.
a nevermore bird.
the under-side of a blackbird’s wing,
red auguries of crimson.
(she wears heart-break so well.
paradigm of your typical gothic heroine –
Annabel Lee, make me proud.)
the little fractures
perhaps she waiting for a miracle,
(but miracles are of the mind).
or perhaps just a tabula rasa, (a clean slate),
to purge the hurt, the dull aching pressure
in her chest, that sets like a stone.
him.
hung by her own tongue, his footprints
on her soul. and he is the only one who
can make her so, as she dissects
her own words: a chemical june bug at
the mercy of mavens.
(and it’s just what might have been.)
just, might have been.
vocal artillery.
cumbia para todo se fue detrás.
cumbia, cumbia.
¡cigarra, dichosa tú! de que usted morirá
de un corazón sofocado – azul.
miré al sol, helios está
parpadeando.
cumbia, cumbia - para todo que
murió.
cavidades secados del polvo, pozos
negros del pulmón.
abierto y verde esta
la fruta d’oro –
todo lo que tenemos que gritar.
peregrine poet oratory.
she counts bead ambitions here, softly
tucked between the leaves of
vellum and circumstance.
I call you hyacinth girl, hyacinth girl.
this fine wine friendship birthing here is
more addicting that caffeine. hope.
words, words, words, none such
can express this fluttering feeling,
this blue ruin of discourse, of
knowing, and touching starlight;
purpled consanguinean petals and
infantile splinter tea leaves, spare on
blue-dutchivory china.
animus. and dream-visions.
corset-walls. lovely lamps, windows of the soul.
tawdry with freezer burn imprinted, vermillon-
suncracks adoring. opalescent incandescence of
housed fancy. this nacreous mirror called
the slender white.
legend.
isolde of the blanche hands. little green and
tragedy is that more compelling. tugging at puppet-heart
strings, a waltz of marionettes.
mannequins in gwenyth-silk and hero-effigy.
robin goodfellow let loose among the thorns, a
mad-spirit with cupid’s bow. venus in an eidolon sky.
candor.
india ink circles, these pauper’s pawns;
india ink-and-aphonia
a breach, a mark, a stygian footnote
in dark brandy wine. just henna tattoos,
henna tattoos for emily.
finis.
[a very bad translation of vocal artillery - infinetly better in spanish]
vocal artillery.
cumbia for everything left behind
cumbia, cumbia.
cicada, happy you! you will die
of a choked heart - blue.
watch the sun, helios is
winking.
cumbia, cumbia - for all that has
died.
dried cavities of the dust, septic
tanks of the lung.
opened and green
this fruit of gold –
everything that we shout out loud.
(footnote: Cumbia is a native dance of Columbia)
-
(henna tattoos for emily) Edit
dots and circles etched in the skin;
india ink-and-aphonia
and everything, everything spirals
in her heart.
this wonderment.
lapis lazuli is braided betwixt pre-raphaelite curls,
dancing, slight shimmers of the brightest blue;
singing, breathing cords, fabricating
a cocoon made of flats and minors, an asylum
of parchment threads and lyrical indentations.
a nevermore bird.
the under-side of a blackbird’s wing,
red auguries of crimson.
(she wears heart-break so well.
paradigm of your typical gothic heroine –
Annabel Lee, make me proud.)
the little fractures
perhaps she waiting for a miracle,
(but miracles are of the mind).
or perhaps just a tabula rasa, (a clean slate),
to purge the hurt, the dull aching pressure
in her chest, that sets like a stone.
him.
hung by her own tongue, his footprints
on her soul. and he is the only one who
can make her so, as she dissects
her own words: a chemical june bug at
the mercy of mavens.
(and it’s just what might have been.)
just, might have been.
vocal artillery.
cumbia para todo se fue detrás.
cumbia, cumbia.
¡cigarra, dichosa tú! de que usted morirá
de un corazón sofocado – azul.
miré al sol, helios está
parpadeando.
cumbia, cumbia - para todo que
murió.
cavidades secados del polvo, pozos
negros del pulmón.
abierto y verde esta
la fruta d’oro –
todo lo que tenemos que gritar.
peregrine poet oratory.
she counts bead ambitions here, softly
tucked between the leaves of
vellum and circumstance.
I call you hyacinth girl, hyacinth girl.
this fine wine friendship birthing here is
more addicting that caffeine. hope.
words, words, words, none such
can express this fluttering feeling,
this blue ruin of discourse, of
knowing, and touching starlight;
purpled consanguinean petals and
infantile splinter tea leaves, spare on
blue-dutchivory china.
animus. and dream-visions.
corset-walls. lovely lamps, windows of the soul.
tawdry with freezer burn imprinted, vermillon-
suncracks adoring. opalescent incandescence of
housed fancy. this nacreous mirror called
the slender white.
legend.
isolde of the blanche hands. little green and
tragedy is that more compelling. tugging at puppet-heart
strings, a waltz of marionettes.
mannequins in gwenyth-silk and hero-effigy.
robin goodfellow let loose among the thorns, a
mad-spirit with cupid’s bow. venus in an eidolon sky.
candor.
india ink circles, these pauper’s pawns;
india ink-and-aphonia
a breach, a mark, a stygian footnote
in dark brandy wine. just henna tattoos,
henna tattoos for emily.
finis.
[a very bad translation of vocal artillery - infinetly better in spanish]
vocal artillery.
cumbia for everything left behind
cumbia, cumbia.
cicada, happy you! you will die
of a choked heart - blue.
watch the sun, helios is
winking.
cumbia, cumbia - for all that has
died.
dried cavities of the dust, septic
tanks of the lung.
opened and green
this fruit of gold –
everything that we shout out loud.
(footnote: Cumbia is a native dance of Columbia)
