Sunday, July 12, 2009

Pulp Fiction

Pulp Fiction

“My temper soured—
in kinds of ballads
I said farewell—
To the world”
—Arthur Rimbaud
A Season in Hell

The silences—feminine, phobic, phallic
Wherein lie—unminded energies of chance

Every now and then—a poet like Rimbaud
Gives us a drunken boat—a bateau ivre

Not so much a boat—but rather something
Like a voyant voyeur—Ardennes to Paris

A beached craft—on a kind of fractal coastline
A permeable border—between one and many

The story of my folly—possessing the colors of
Fractal intricacies—the vowels of my universe

I invented Mandelbrot colors—A jet-black onyx
E ivory white, I ruby red, dark steel pistol blue

And U emerald green—I mastered reiterations
At first it was an experiment—I wrote silences

I invented a fractal language—instinctively mine
I recorded the inexpressible—frenzies in flight

I loved maudlin movies—Bette Davis divine
Pulp fiction paperbacks—low-life literature

Sullen fairytales—inane comic books
Saturday matinee romances—in the balcony

I drowned in that vast—Mandelbrot Sea
Fractal tides—turning me into jaded Jetsam

Poetic quaintness—and postmodern undertow
Sucked me down into—underwater cafes

Carriages of effervescent—flying fish and
Monstrous sharks of the deep—devoured me

I explained it all away—with melodramatic
Tragedy queen schoolboy—haughty hauteur

Magic disorders—filling me with sluggish fever
Was I not a caterpillar—innocent with limbo?

Was I not consumed—with the felicity of worms
Moles in their sleep of virginity—deep in the earth?

Afterimages and hallucinations—such fractal
Breath-filled resonances—such complex chords!!!

No comments: