Monday, November 16, 2015

Daniel Y. Harris & Irene Koronas, excerpt from heshe egregore

Ho|ma|ge to Edvard Munch, image by Daniel Y. Harris

ted hughes and sylvia plath

even mytholmroyd has the routine telekinetic port for the hacked off heads of purple calves and stray dogs and the savage birthmarks of condor holy robed in rotted verdigris skinned and piled pyled and skinned for shade and dishclout the blackish lump blackpurpled bloodball incendiaries wordwrecked and womb punctured sucking the bone shanks to kingdom come bobs the back end stuck out as crooked as the lunatic lean split gut havoc of a muscled scato tunnel manned by gassy midgets with skin diseases across the mortal shock to hear the urine stained holy cock die by the fire of two blackcut malaiseys snap the hinge of skin the mother flesh fingering right back to the porthole of the pelvis white red black purple plush and pink fizz wrestling with her groins his groins no groins severed and cemented to the scissored tombeau flip this homunculus flip this trespass of vulva to squeeze past the neck to lance the boils of useless in this armpit of the canon crotchpit of the canon or canonic piggrunt redwhite tumuli skulled plated and clear bones and acanthine hair are littered against that wobbly vertebrae or if you must push the wobbly pushback of pulp tendon vein vertebrae ligament sinew deadlocked to futility it must die they must die we must die in something like a barbwire snare in this new century of advanced simplicity and the mustard gas of bad poetry to eye your wobbly knees to snare right into the cancer of your average and normal and expected chronicle hooked into the bored loop of one more drone reading by a deadlocked averagaton who should be killed before taking the mic and mounting a campaign to kill the spirit yolkyellow gummy squared normal obvious heraldic in the crass narratives of ivy or less but ranked beside the hackoff head of the genius you can never be and hate            

—Daniel Y. Harris