Monday, January 20, 2020

J. Karl Bogartte, UNNATURAL PLAYTHINGS


Nocturnal Threads, image by J. Karl Bogartte 


UNNATURAL PLAYTHINGS


A glorious night of Eucalyptus and throwing cocktails, licking lips, fierce debates, fading shadows of the sun, the sensuous acrobats persist. The grief of loving fingers, cultivating poppies… and Pangolins speaking to the trees… Always amiss with a lantern, a lost manuscript, emeralds defying gravity for a sudden Icarus made out of glass. Passing through a crowded leopard.

*

The water lilies of your body, the pleasures of a knife. Your tongue probing the hive…

*

Pandora-shaped weapons gathering steam, to never unkey loving messages with Lilium and Canna providing rumors from Ecuador. Every starry night is every equestrian’s dream. For terror and innocence. For mastery, over the impossible, formulating question marks. The mystery of rituals without interpretation, emitting a mirage for a secretive dialogue between sighs and signs. It all passes, in passing through. Flesh frozen in fire. For sustenance.

*

Animal presence, always torrential. Sleeping deep inside the wolf. Hunger is new and much brighter than before. Tables rising out of the earth for spell binding…

*

Maven-rags and gyroscope for future positions. Algebraic solutions over open wounds, to dazzle the loam humming softly to “I know Hibiscus makes the skin magnetic. A hammer enchants the bell… when I bleed. When I know you are listening. When I speak of ether and time, as brother and sister…” without using words, exactly, solar splinters, restructuring the sense of urgency. When Diogenes’s footprints led the hounds through the clothing of dusk…

*

Generating auricles for streetlights, spiders for syrup, beauty dressed in violence. In your image, only cellular sparks in the air, pulled together for an entrance at the margins of attraction.


Dressed in heron and Saqqara, toward fireflies and the missing propellers in the bridal chamber. Surrounded by ghostly thrones, exquisitely long hindlegs… An autobiography hidden among crystals firing glances, hunting for images…

*

A springtime of white-haired machines, black-skinned detonations, fate of the telepathic rose “my love…” to follow the moon-riddled throat of resplendent likeness. Both living and past, while the sirens paused in midair to breed…

*

Occult caressing Analogies, on all fours, triangulated and pushed into friction and arc, in passing through, spokes to undermine. Movement is to be enchanted, delirious germinations. After the last letter, the last xyz… silting mimosa, barking, the spinning the amorous the paradoxical absence projecting a very long and tumultuous shadow. High-pitched and elongated. Indigo sleeps, exhausted and filled with glowing sensations. Loom is another species. Together they incubate. Leaving profuse messages…

*

The sound of hybrid triangles interlocking without hesitation. All is lost for the shuddering scent that skins you living, with acrobatic exhalation. The one that intoxicates. Deep and searing. The rising dust liberated from its dark devious windows.

You see yourself fading over time, cross it out and insert desert for parallel doll’s eyes and powdered angel’s trumpet for discourse. In the mind, it’s circulatory. For wandering, it’s enhanced shadowing. Often, signal is replaced by magnetic attraction, making discovery a deserted courtyard. You are never the main protagonist, or the same. It’s not possible with language, without a flashfire that becomes a violent erasure. Moonlight on stilts spanning several countries.

*

Mise-en-Scène is fleece-in-vague, the characters have gone asunder. Slipping covert. The heroine is beside herself and precious capacity, the knife-thrower for devotion. She observes every flicker and tic, to always see what needs to be seen. A scattering of black wasps for eye shade, to pleasure the Lacemaker for a timepiece of parallel matters, chasing mirror in the dark. Swallow leaps for the window-makers, Agave throws torches. Ermine troubles empathy, powering up widespread disasters for love. What can never be undone.

*

Acting in accordance with stimulations of the hive. Emitting sufficient blue to unsettle gargoyles and the words that outline a certain vigilance, to intensify the last refuges of the most precious stones. Throwing handfuls of honey, emitting insinuations that make your bones vibrate in the landscape lapses. To see, what ravenous desire for light, inventing the sun…



— J. Karl Bogartte 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.