Wednesday, December 8, 2010

text || Ric Carfagna

from Symphony No.3
(caryatids for the firmament)

Ric Carfagna


And here a world within the black dog’s soul
stones in the orchard shadowed by night
the iron cords which sink deep into the malleable veins
yet to see these small pinions of light arise
a prism’s grind through a crow’s tessellated wing
fragile rags infesting the sky’s isolating sphere
here each pallid alabaster tongue
sings of the nocturnal angel’s distillate embrace
sings to the larval ocean god’s sutured torso
sings to the treading bloodless detrital skeletons
leaching through the gauzy opaque ivory keyhole
sings to the cerulean-eyed leaden sun
falling upon the bare acid grassland waste
sings to the evolving aphasic nitrate fetus
clinging to the pitted ulcerated arterial walls
sings to the gaunt parasitical quanta
breaching the plutonium atom’s impermeable sea
sings to the dying galaxy’s phosphorescent moraine
flowing through the quarried granite statuary limbs –


Shadows from the orchid garden
laced as silk spun to the tapestry
she held this image
apart from her ideation of eternity
she lay within its sulfured darkness
within its calming marbled belly
she thought of the inexhaustible atoms
still coursing through the dead beggar’s corpse
how decay will change to immaterial essence
holding its nature
immune from the speculative philosopher’s ken
she thought of the day’s attenuating intaglio of light
of the embalming isolative tongue of evening’s decent
of the rooted fractal layers of oceanic dust
of the bleeding menstrual torch
seething its acrid bane of fate
of the unrequited dreamless sleep
imprisoned behind eyes of martyred desire –

- Intermezzo IX -

On the walls
the seven stars
of Plato’s brain

in the valley
hungry for strange comfort

in the city
the sound of molded bells
the sound of trampled thoughts
the sound of those left behind
in haste

a spectral dog dead in the road
a silver cloud’s descending
hinge of blindness


It is late in the autumnal geometer’s ironwork elegy
he has slept here within the willow’s shade
he has slept as one who dreams
dreaming in a numinous cloister’s abluted glade
he has dreamt of eyes
eyes that once existed
eyes of the gaunt vassal’s nomadic revenant
arising from the scarlet hued pavement veins
eyes blinded by refulgent primordial shards
from a shattered galaxy’s cosmic anamnesis
eyes observing the blackened hyponogogic raven
devouring the orchid arisen at dawn
eyes of the bleeding sea-wrack refugee
impaled on the blooded tyrant’s astigmatic spire
eyes gilded by mute days of sundered ruin
trembling as smoke drifting
across an unquenchable gulf
eyes of the burning tundra kings
entombed in rusted anthracite obelisks
eyes of the agrarian peasant’s unborn progeny
cowering beneath the yoke of embryonic oppression
eyes of the bended mind’s corrosive isolation
shuttered in the quantum caves of oceanic atrophy
eyes of the beguiling parasitical serpent
infecting the coiled fetus helix –


It is said
the witch enters into the heart of the jackal
when the clouds pass
below the raven-hunted gallows pole
when the silent leaf falls
in a forest of abraded late afternoon light
when all time is realized
as occurring
simultaneously within
the sentient mitochondrial helix
yet it is darkness
that clothes
the scarlet threaded limbs
darkness which remains
an impregnable diseased light
which leaves its traces
at the sparrow’s grave
which leaves its traces
in the radiant valence of entangled atoms
which leaves its traces
in the spiraling galaxy’s evolving decay
which leaves its traces
in the incommensurable pathos
bleeding from the heart lost to wilderness
which leaves its traces
in the tyrant’s scouring iron eye
hungered with fleshly pestilence
which leaves its traces
in the oblique sea of rotting cilia
swimming in the celestial womb’s placental blood
which leaves its traces
in the scourging abyss
of the madman’s mind
which leaves its traces
as dawn’s muted luminous spires
shattering the glassy veiled firmamental chalice –

- Aria VI -

These walls
stained with madness
and stagnant longing

a soul’s withdrawn universe
a shadowed sentinel
floats alone

a creature mislead
by the obscure
discourse of mad oracles

Ric Carfagna
November, 2010

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