Revelry Montage

Thwarting the charge of saddening silence is a new sanguinity. Heading towards a vortex to illuminate the veils coolly, heading onward a Hungarian arcade, basking in a wishy-washy western factory, the haberdashery. Whatever causes torsion in the poems of my form persists only in the lost side of my inner self as a shriveled memory. Magically a moment is dim heaven lit singly by a golden bulb, set in discotheque valley. Gerund- cindering the plume of albatross crest as the flock of them voyages ahead the zone of rear twilight. Quartets on ashy Thursdays, two memories of burnt Mondays. The static drift that comes from honeyed others, sweetens the cargo, sweetens the crew, and conquers the passenger to a propelled story in the purgatory tempest. Colloquial is the crux of the affair that’s pretty in the wickedness of the edgy, blankly canvassed words amassing the art of fortunes.

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It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

7 thoughts on “Revelry Montage”

  1. Have you ever been to Tuba City or Kayenta? What we see in the picture together with the unknown that lies ahead, and forgotten that was left behind in the moment (undoubtedly caught on Kodachrome) are, will be, and were pretty much as you describe them.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Watt: this is the second time I am leaving this comment. The first was during the night (Eastern US), not last night but the night before last. Not only did that comment never show but the following morning, your post was not there. Your post showed up later in the day.

    I am trying not to interpret this hypernaturally, as it were….

    What I said originally is that T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound both came to me as my attention was beginning to flame out while I was reading your piece. They asked that I read it through and again, and one more time again. Which I did.

    The shin of my right leg is bruised a bit now as I kept trying to open the door of the car and get away from that accusatory finger. But I was pulled back in the car and stayed there. And how much I enjoyed the push and pull of this piece; its geyser spurts. And the wonderful recognition that we are, of ourselves, many people enjoying, or not, every moment and its decisions! Thanks! Sarah

    I also asked about the car. I thought it might be an old Citroen but no. Now I am thinking it is an old Fiat? Like the Fiats of my Ethiopian childhood in Addis. So what is it?


    1. I know sorry. The post got deleted and I had to republish it.
      Your comment is so beautiful and I don’t think I could ever have a response that would be strong enough without sounding like a pretentious idiot. Most of this piece is voiced from the side of me that blinds the curiosity that could murder the immediate happy glow.
      And being compared to Ezra Pound is no small deal. Thank you so much!!

      Liked by 1 person

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