Issue 11: Giles Goodland
We had been watching clouds
make copies of themselves,
a jet-trail like a flaw in an empty glass.
In his small craft sat Lewis, vortician
of the evereverberating rowback. He
shivered his uppermoist pondmotor
torrented those quasilly facetiae
while glossuaries of gigularity
palpitated the aeioulian metallurge
in circumcentric cascades: agoggle
in slapstic plastic spastic wrongoing.
The instantaneous then of the image
clocklocked the clauseway with
our angels, their structures
facefacetted with bifocal touchscreens
fictioning inbeside a leetlet’s
irreverberate waterial, the star
without pause, metallic fascia
on the pond that is made of eye
rowlocked a lifecycling rushstrokes
of a scribbled throbstance,
paraddling durabble dabbles while
the shade concerning my skin also
moved behind me, and it felt
waterthing is wavewoven wordfold
as, slowly, in the fulness of space
the words destroyed themselves.
Tics, commuters from the dead
clenched woodpiles of sense
extraneous as time is to the objects
on which they hang, rest
stimulessly in skincases with
no ideath but inthings. Stars prickled
with contempt, senses congregated on
the path submitting to night
when the velcrobat climblimbed the stalk
event-managing the fieldedge
under the velluminous evenstar
towards a metastable sepulcer of the umwelt.
Its 12-year moment beclipsed until
one butyric senseme and it skydived
to foothook a mammalian hahair.
Once on the embodily matterhorn
of a trunk it pinheadfed its thinthin
scarsac fulltilted its gramatom
jammed its joycetick in the slurface and
bloodlet a cuplet of globs to
oillwell its invisceral earnout.
Plumplump the doughdoughty roly-
polyp, queen of gloat, aslaked
oblivious bleeding as a corrective
to the bleedingly obvious.
Bladdered & quasilazy it eggdropped
embodily and teetered tickstock.
By the otherity infeasted in me (it spoke)
grotund dustrust of the foreheadow
I fuelfilled the clandestiny nonthing
for future acts of poetry
fullupped on bloodmeal, I
resisted language almost surceasefully.
Pigmyhop to the uninundated forestshore.
Seathedge the farthom that
holds the line against weed.
An infirmament of motile forkfolk
is heavening its leaflitteral tidalities
in weaved seasonglong: beach
flee, fission farthunder,
feast on edge of defalted bladders
& shredded casettetape
orasif to skipjack the unshore
in seaspraysprung piles. Dodgy pop
ups shore the undisonant
oozeless. There opined my
mouths and cry over spilt mind, in
the driftline of kneehigh scab,
timeuntidy eledgelies of feelbitten
foretime. All my jokes came true
the clouds out of breath
loose a trace against time.
O shards inside the dream awaken
complicate the language on
the brittle shore where text exceeds
meaning and sea is spokes
woman for the dead, cross
grain the seassaulted unboundaries
when I get to the borderline
fleckflock an antirational flapflup
saltate the surfface, the wrack
undersand we ununderstand
wereyou whitherwave the witherwells.
An elemeltary cryptengine trembules
in rappleture, sifting sunlight,
descensory, geostationary, throwinging
the howeaver thether hoverovering
wherover overflying the floweather,
a nerverse peroration windhoovering
distinguised in listiness of appleture
to airsupport the abacusbeadhead
as if my life depended
birds can’t catch the rhythm
intermindable in flexicolor
the motionblur in uprose.
To heal the sunset tilt the earth
share between daylights
a scrupulous clubtongue
as clouds climbdown ropes of water
to hustle shadows under the appletree
nerverending the mindsounds
in vespiform prevocative as
the sun crashes in flames
images leak from air as on a broken
laptopscreen a crack breathes sky
through many kinds of light
touchwhich the timerich
philophosphor deleuzes the errorplane
of interporetation, its accessorized
undercarriage, its farawry eyefilm.
Giles Goodland's latest book of poetry is Dumb Messengers from Salt, before that was Gloss from Knives Forks & Spoons Press.