"The more intensively the work of art destroys
rational objective logic, the greater the
possibilities of artistic form."
-- Kurt Schwitters
it seems their simple static
will not (soon) be enough
what they are needing now is
the keen nettling noise
of us
where it is damp and lit by troubled light a conversation was stilted
and a noise manifested
as a physical being and
assaulted unconscious sitters and
several sing-songers
eating ginger snaps choked
-- a much-the-same SEVERAL of them WENT BAREFOOT --
and there was an intermission
meanwhile: thunderous was
upon stages an altar
he... with... placed images between blades
upon a white smoke
a not sharp singled
sliced (out) left on spindly legs shifting
on legs broken bent ached
and wondered (wander) [across the room she pinned him contradictory
against a spinning clock]
what legs sprouted roots at... at
the wall he held soft and she danced across cables
and she later appeared as a card
a card
"...voided voices still..."
crying curling canceling
(all but she) and hours of unjust watching (and he)
went unseen up the stairs
into an adulterous night
❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋
Later, damp and hunched beneath the first of many dropped ceilings, one struck, upon an unsoiled mattress, the tentative, virginal rhythm of an ulterior tribe, while two recited consistent poems, as dueling manifestos, and another choked the neck of another. When eventually they rose from this fundament, stained and moist, only one walked away, leaving the others to form the band.
The band consisted of the poets, and a skate-punk; a gifted entertainer, and his gangly, irregular sidekick; a confrontational, closeted homosexual, and another just biding his time. These were the original basement slouchers, and they were awkward. And they were, of course, great. In addition, throughout the years, they occasionally sought augmentation, for elemental reasons, and several odd others joined in, including: a long-haired metal scholar, a thickset daddy's boy, an imperial in flannel, a boisterous instigator, and a wailing, suicidal maniac.
❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋
and
it is not the whorl of static that
impedes the doubling of you in
speckled chiaroscuro
it is not the cold manipulation of
circuitous squealing nothing that
is alarming you
it is the feedback
when everyone else closed their alcohol eyes and smiled asleep in the next room
a collaboration was discussed
an atonal cacophony of rhythms and phonemes
resonates
as a coda
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