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Luminous Vessels

Luminous Vessels

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Published by Bogartte

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Published by: Bogartte on Oct 29, 2010
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01/04/2013

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LUMINOUS WEAPONS
PROSE POEMS
 J. KARL BOGARTTE
 
 LUMINOUS WEAPONS
“A night left swinging, a night suspended.” -Jean-Louis Bédouin
 An aleph of a night and its sea-worthy mother, bright as ether for this intrusive circulationof the watcher's gate singing to its costumes, and she is most agreeable: it is in the prowling,and a coven in the prowling, in the dust, accidental and black as a wedding hung from theapex of a triangle and rendered beautiful as light and the amorous tortures. She crouches toshape those loving glances trickling in by the psyche-driven chisels and ravenous clefts of dark gowns. She is inviolate, to be seen and entered only in the dark. A molecular fabric of igneous illusion glittering in the doorway... but she adores the clarity of your absence. Themagic is in the sudden hesitations,sublime and feverish, and anointed with the candle-making craft of aroused promontories. Agate claws its way out of the light, a nameless kiss.* You enter sleep through the harbor, and become a ghostly presence, luminous veins,mutable and immutable seed cluster, and your eyes an outward quiver of waking in theopposite direction, in the middle of the night secreting transparency like beautiful sighs, orexcited keys inside ancient locks... You are an ambiguous gesture, a harsh and thoughtfulfire... a breath making love to fire in the depths of the earth. Bur she is this way even in theaftermath. A doorway that intervenes. Reflections in progress...*
“The ravens are abrasive like us” 
, she spoke in her rapture of fine-tuning, a vast and effortlesssigh, with striations of an interior exhumation, ground up with bone, cinnabar andpremonitions–
“let them eat us after licking their weapons...” 
The fierce, indignant tricksterfilled with gold, departing at the speed of light, entering inward...* You part the silkworms of her presence, when she dies for others the way light spinscounterclockwise out of the missing armor, turning on the ledge of consciousness, a virgin-colored gyroscope, bursting in the Far East, on a street of weavers, beneath the moon andother acts of violence, softly moaning, sparkling on the surface and grinding to a halt... foryour hands... a passionate fixation... where the pigments of desire charge up the brightest of nights, in a slender essence, curving in the air of bright germination, beneath the sea for stars,(those nacreous spindles) on the red table of conjuring, in the wolf coat, for the sister of theshe in the door of the jackal casting spells for shadows.
 
 *Shadow upon shadow, Statue to stature, propitious arcs and traumatic entrances, pure-bred flowers of projection that never cease to amaze and beguile the canine ramparts thatbring you face to face with the ambidextrous shape of calculated risk, the hiss of navigationalcharts, bride-like analogies in the interpreter’s sense of exhaustion, carried by messengers inthose bright and warm cobalt bottles resembling the hidden lake of an evening of anguish.She was a globe of mercury set spinning for the axis of an Egyptian husk, tormented in youreyes by fountains.*On the street of metamorphosis, in the glow of a dark and ornate fire drawing blood-lineslike rubies lit up from behind, through which her bones can be held shimmering like rain: alandscape breathing in and out again, and wise in the animal dashing out of her language,that magnetic storm central to the bathing of beauty and the dark locomotive. The luridfinesse of a continuing lapse. Canal of sorrowful milk. Lantern dust. The book opens a shawlfilled with murmuring and conspiracies, rigging the spores of a priestess clock. Automatic weapon...* When she distracts with equestrian suns and clairvoyant daughters, from one myth andinsinuation to the next, the heavy lead of her tongue tastes of the night-layered fields,sinuous and lured out of hiding, and bright like certain crucial aspects of sun-filtered blood(changing places with a wild and pleasurable spirit) when it spills the cold, aching aura of aloping arrival. The hyacinth that rivals the starlight that starts the fire and draws you closerto the welding grate and grappling roots of anointed presence. She is groomed andrearranged according to the shards, shale and tarn of the insolent corpse, the gracefulswimmer who shapes the hour of your defacing... sprawled beneath the radar, a sputteringflare of unreason.* Who comes and goes by spreading light according to desire? Who resides in their ownabsence more impending than a crucible of mist, more naked than water? A feather pulledfrom sight to announce the placement of ghost flowers in the elk’s name, the Woo-et, andHoische, the eh’Halume and other elemental hazards of each life sharing the same shadow,speaking in tongues... When she comes apart beneath the lamps and dazzling shores, ashameless digging in the shallows, there are swift paws enhanced in hermetic tappingaccording to the fires in the wake, and there lays darker beneath the dream, much deeperthan an ordinary conversation between lovers and dark rivals. Diving vessels form thehorizon, pulling up the sea for a silvering pathology. She places her honey according to theplanets, in careless disarray.

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