Pickled kittens. (via Caratacus)

Come on over to the Dark Force...

K.S.

“O CARIB ISLE!

The tarantula rattling at the lily’s foot
Across the feet of the dead, laid in white sand
Near the coral beach--nor zigzag fiddle crabs
Side-stilting from the path (that shift, subvert
And anagrammartize your name)--No, nothing here
Below the palsy that one eucalyptus lifts
In wrinkled shadows--mourns.

And yet suppose
I count these nacreous frames of tropic death,
Brutal necklaces of shells around each grave
Squared off so carefully. Then

To the white sand I may speak a name, fertile
Albeit in a stranger tongue. Tree names, flower names
Deliberate, gainsay death’s brittle crypt. Meanwhile
The wind that knots itself in one great death--
Coils and withdraws. So syllables want breath.

But where is the Captain of this doubloon isle
Without a turnstile? Who but catchword crabs
Patrols the dry groins of the underbrush?
What man, or What
Is Commissioner of mildew throughout the ambushed senses?
His Carib mathematics web the eyes’ baked lenses!

Under the ponciana, of a noon or afternoon
Let fiery blossoms clot the light, render my ghost
Sieved upward, white and black along the air
Until it meets the blue’s comedian host.
Let not the pilgrim see himself again
For slow evisceration bound like those huge terrapin
Each daybreak on the wharf, their brine-caked eyes;
--Spiked, overturned; such thunder in their strain!
And clenched beaks coughing for the surge again!

Slagged of the hurricane--I, cast within its flow,
Congeal by afternoons here, satin and vacant.
You have given me the shell, Satan,--carbonic amulet
Sere of the sun exploded in the sea.”

--Hart Crane, Key West: An Island Sheaf (1932)


K. S.

Famous for it's seafood.

K. S.

"HAVE to die, of blood bye bye there, posh and they as dirty Volley’d snarl ounces of birdbrained unspeakable, the line they hard sloe posted to send the dope, and the guns. I comment sprocket, the saber. Stroke the callousness ovule weakness, sixes fade? Glean but the reply, candle cop wonder’d. Dark lake & has stoic wagon at the front, all imagine of miss charge they made. Mark a league, half of spaces. Should we yew built mouth prop onward; All About Us former open grave avoid, posted with stultification fauna.

HALF Storm’d so chomps. Left loyalty ashen, lasso bugles flare term me near Death, finally which chapel craves; lordship sate & Rode broke; by to North polarity I & he, we knew to cash in, While he stressed thro’ justification on their reasons why, their intents blow supported payee second razz, & dense swoons the lantern troy of Death of thyme, club painstaking aloe for flesh. Flash’d praline quay and to be made without closed down expatriates a wild mortise, astoundingly bare, All the pinpricks, Jeeps, the fluorescent safekeeping bestow the Not horse If math the approachable peeve, patty cakes rot, kill the When “forward, forward, dismay’d?” World ever on tights, AK swipes at anonymity, theme elates not to revitalize sub do election, fiction fluidity, Adept down her included other than cold amok daubed world on a Friday. Into the deceitful park, beast tho angles. Into the valley; some acidfire hundreds occur ox horded shaft. Wonder’d: mouth doing dewy. Foreign thee, and not Them, dip so back from the miles of volume pleads, plunged postage, of Death, rode the six rubric snot’s dried, O he’s solar all but more the rails quire. Death I.Q., lang tongues curvy frill sixes them, deep, show clarion eyes shot out. Against become we fife, theirs not up to they, they Volley’d, had lamp come and fought not onto yardsticks waste as they turn’d hoop ban, seven hundred. Well buss, inappropriate steep said; whirrs leapt stoic, left little hints. Oxidized, reeled from unscientific strongbox excisions. Honor of being from woof unabridged; conning gods, a Cossack and Russian of enact, pry. Light a man, overthrows vision the one impecunious diagraph fireside which validate the news, allows COD. He owes, wields, goodwill. Cannon later saw limitations of forcefulness. Noble itself, a league perceived by the Potential thunder’d; thick wage, thick skinning Hell, jaws quoting from Swamp. Charges the young throne, charging an army, nature, atomic; they’re but them. Conning the right half, text stoops hero, thunder’d; dope dice scoffed, I was doing a pronouncement ." --The Red Dragon and the Black Beast

I dig!

K. S.

"MY HANDS HAD FORGOTTEN LORCA

Though my body was full of him, for I
had spent part of last Saturday discussing
his poetry with a Chilean sailor, my hands
had forgotten Lorca.

Until tonight, when,
glancing through an anthology,
I came across a poem of his, called Córdoba.

And, opening an atlas to search
for this city, realised as I ran
my fingers over the map of Spain

that I was stroking Lorca’s face."

--Mark Young

My favorite Lesbian Wiccan Heavy Metal Band. More. Still more.

Don't suppose they'll ever come here.

K. S.

Symmetry is overrated.

K. S.