(Originally posted Wednesday, December 12, 2007)
Vague, Moody, Byronesque Passages On a Cold Day
“…I watched the black-blue morning sky, with nothing hatched from it but a misbegotten sun… ”
” … I had begun to live in the despair inevitably born from one’s happiness …”
” … to love was to decompose, to have faith in a timelessness that was not … to wither and rot …more, please”
” … the nightingale showered in my bath, she whose beauty was of hateful putrescence to me…for what did she know of it anyway?”
” … Oh, to see an urn cracked. How true that is …”
” … black sputum coughed up again …”
“… the Arno River is quite low today …”
” … let musk-roses blow beautifully on far away islands. But it’s none of my damn business….”
” … I have known happiness, but spent myself too quickly on her…if you take my meaning …”
” … our marriage sacrament, unfinished but to drown in that river there …Damn unholy love!”
“… hateful, fetid itching …”
” … from the red gash falls heavy mere work of the imagination. Another wound not worth mentioning …”
“… ruin yawns. Is there such a thing as to be ruined twice in one morning?”
“… I grow pathetic….”
” … rude ticklings of a black creek shallow with death … I think it’s tea time.”
” … Bare cupboard. Damn….”
“… the astrolabe tells the sidereal time. It is fear hour …”
” … I’m beset by ague; my love has not written. Flaming maggots of hell…”
“… the falcon taunts me. come taunt me closer, insolent devil harpy and we’ll see what exactly death can destroy …”
“…the precious hour of parting lingers … why won’t you leave?”
Beauty is Imperfection 
Leave a Reply