Saturday, September 2, 2017

Michael Mc Aloran, 6 untitled


Untitled, image by Michael Mc Aloran (oil on canvas 2012, 122 x 155cm) 




(i)

traceless...
vapour tones...
unsung devour...
cut cold of bitter lights outstretched...
endless laughter of echoing out the wilted blood as if to...
traces/absent flesh...
all spoken for/asked of/reduced to stammering in neon exigent...
vellum cast accorded flung to (the) dogs of speech...
neither of (the) lapse nor the figurative echoing in tremor...
colour-clad of (the) redeem-lack lost to shadow-play abounding...
knotted meat of carcass breath...
fingers caress the body broken valves of feel longshadowfall...
outreaching fingers severed cold climate of unspoken...
from out of which till lapse dissolve/what will...
(“the skinned animal crosses the street across”)
utterance/utterance...
till severed once again/ blood’s lack to blindly flow...


(ii)

delirium erupts in a vice of breathe cold trace...
tone deaf (the) vapours shadowy nocturne spitting out (the) pips
of it/the terse null unto...
endeavour ice restorative bleed (the) excrement dredged...
fallen unto/beyond which...
hands absent then...
colours dead tidal collectively unspoken also...
within (the) wound dwells another and yet another wound and
yet once more unto...(etc.)
herein/then...
not a trace of the commence of (the) blacklight frenzy...
searches for promise a wastage of bones calling forth the
absenteeism of...
blood’s rhetoric...
all sung unsaid rolling over in (the) milk teeth ash of...
shine a light/as if to cancel the night were merely an abort of... 


(iv)

what will what blood given to dressage...
confetti despair of the laughterlong cold trace spilling out upon...
the rotting emblems of burnt traces...
fallen into...
measured by...
all said...
traceless the unknowing calling out from naught unto no-thing...
crucible fashioning (the) lights for tomorrow’s asking of...
broken bloodied nullity the shearing teeth (the) bled unspoken...
(“it/we/what...”)
cataract of claims spilled upon through non-speech speech
absenteeism...
as if to...
spinal warp as if to say that it were prominent...
alack/alack/a-laughter long what of it the fuck that it matters...
dead dredge what of...
garrotte/no trace for the fury of sleep throughout...
(“it is a lie”...)
silenced/then/and obsolete...


(v)

shadow of...
meat trinkets of...
cold shadow solace tread what spill of light-blood welt across
foreign skin...
descent into from nowhere bound...
a noose dangles in the air a spine snapped...
vortice-blind and (the) calling one home of candied corpses...
breath of shit...
(the) skeletal peak a solace of unknown orchids...
denuded bone...
flesh torn from sunderance what blood to revisit...
axen heart...
nullity of the speech bled dry where winter fathom closes upon
solace ever unto/collapse eye-dies...
echo-chamber...
(as if to say)...
these bloodied hands to touch/it says/more or less...
whispers caressing the body vacant...


(vi)

kaleidoscopic pulse...
a broke(n) ceremony...
waste ground...
ashen blood of...
enters from outro out of speech derailed by...
oxidate shadowings given to astringent...
cold shale of the...
bodily the body degorged of sound...
breath to lay down as so much what as if to echo-trace...
lapse then of/collapse then what it was as if to...
asking of it the door slams shut...(echoes)...
cannot what...
 given unto bleed in a sarcophagus of tears...
all sense denounced...
broke stone colourings a shiv glints in the endless night as if to...
unknown yet what...
some violent silence sharpening its teeth upon bloody bones...


(vii)

(“until, it is said”)...
(the blood coming to the fore and there is nothing...)

spiral affluence...
it-lung forgotten ever...
trace what will...
lock-jaw and the permeating as of it/of...
meat to taste in (the) glimmer-eye unspoken of blind trace...
a catascope’s desire...
wilful slaughter...
unspoken/yes or no/it/yes/unspoken...
at dream’s will edge...
so slumbers the blood as oceanic it floweth unto tilted light...
cold chase...
shadowy indent of...
nowhere to caress and/or/breath of it...

(“until, it is said”)

(the blood to the fore coming and there is nothing/ ever)



—Michael Mc Aloran

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