"The beauty of this man," she cried, "is every part of him makes sense!"

His thoughts lost in a fug of madness
Self-reflective sight
The lasing cavity mind which builds its power in itself
All touch upon the world in bursts of briefest fire
And self-possessed (possessed by self) all other times

"It all makes sense!" She cries

For what he failed was not the world
But what he knew
What was himself
That bitter taste of his own seeds of thought
That part he failed to trace into the tale

Oh yes, the beauty, yes the craft
Yes the glory of the matchless effort!
Guilty, gilded glory
Sweet and terribly clean

We cannot hate him, see, and cannot love beyond his sight into the crawling wretched mind that massed its mirrored myriad memories
To flood in desperate rivers through his fingers to the page
To meet a bank and balk and turn to calmer smoother flows

His failure never failed us
His greatness lived inside him crying to be broken and released
And he bit down and chained it to him, useful thing
Whose frenzied cries bounced through the cage of mirrors
Trapped behind the eyes

The problem with knowing how lasers work

Is writing a poem about a writer because you’ve been reading Ulysses and figured out why he liked it

And suddenly realizing that you’ve basically just metaphorically said he’s shooting laser beams from his eyes and it’s just too hilarious to continue in seriousness

Physics is wonderful but goddammit Dr Evil for making every time I use lasers into a reminder of “sharks with fricking laserbeams!”

I do much better with astronomical metaphors




February 2015

8910 11121314


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 21st, 2017 10:23 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios