Thursday, May 29, 2014

poem || Lawrence Upton

The war of Babylon, the victors revise

Christian was the motto of a tank.
To improve in areas of shadow with space.
That is not open architecture.
To construct a language of troubling testimony.
The main question is why writers are vital,
their language the resistance to the main question.
Not only the violence of bombs and war;
the discomfort of her own land
but which attests an obsession with space
and the cities approaching from behind,
now wearing a tight leather bodice,
the tips of the settlements even worse.

Its borders move like mistrust.
The border is the reality of a relationship
with the thin blouse and exit points.
Her hostile vulnerability
to come to terms with bullets.
The whip was held.

Scenes of her body,
its outline destroyed by the road;
apartheid at your doorstep;
war as history as such:
writers complain with soft balm.
Dramatise our flesh.
Here is the pillar
upon itself
in strict alignment.
We left only a whore released,
her cunt moistening further,
such acts spread beyond the land.

And they were each up to paradoxical forms
a company of her arms
the tender inside.
And these are the floor
and its mousetraps

Asphalt spreads out of their houses,
a substance previously experienced
in a single word again;
the ceiling behind her feet;
so he slept with the damage.
Will become impotent
the tank his presence
in many languages
got in the wilderness
and lay.

Pain drooled
to go down into a constant threat of war
forcefully bent
pumps of hard labour
stood up
their forced position behind her
and short skirts a form of the audience

a woman tells us go

this formula is the new shoes
resistance a war in your shoes
disintegrates the tender inside of the grave
bombing buildings

cannot long enough

then walked elegantly over us

that is your doorstep


and there was no water source
that poor waiter, the future
part of destruction of the stiff
sealing off language!
for behold we saw roads of the biblical garden
into something else
when he slept with pleasure
undid the front of the days of history
her strict alignment movable
to resolve into lips
olive trees uprooted

that was a stranger in the field
which demands unremitting safety

reigned in strict bondage
silver buckles had got in
the lord the dominant factor
made obeisance to me
taking revenge on sea rollers
which seemed many colours
that which had been dreamed
or a cloudburst
like the need for demolished houses
beneath our visibility
and the pit was a dark line
across each sensitive part

foundations transform the reality of you
to be felt through her body
words to the voices of silent violence

the same can conceal a moving order
one part of the land
which civilians were seeking
the pathology of vital streets
inverse of a hostile need

a new language has the ground
in which we encountered nothing
but hostile overnight

an empty terrain stretches the dystopia

a dictionary is not truly free
sources it controls
fragments of architecture
the international airport of her vulnerability
beautiful landscapes in between
future in pieces
dwellings in the impossibility
with the world but reflected
words no longer the voices of living
with the streets vital
not hard crack

right we need a forensic laboratory a son and a new language

the name of paradoxical forms
a stranger in the troubling testimony
the son of the crow
more than terror under tirades of history

could feel so luscious
indeed come to be truly free
as the inhabitants live under helicopters
poisonous fire
the image of the pharaoh
most beautiful landscapes departing
(for she died)
the clitoris one runs across
the machine struck me
certain things cannot long remain
a zone in the bedstead
so of her body it occurred to deliver him
to slay him and gently pulling the sons of ghettos
or their forced-up position behind her
and she looked down to Egypt
you fictional competence
return home

hatred is permanently a state
an almost panicky relationship
come in the tenacity of the destruction
inflicted by the river in a tired glance
covenants fishnet stockings she collapsed
in the roads
kitchenware well-lit

one advances into Egypt
an hundred intellectuals from your smell

the command came with their language
the bulldozers rolled over the shoes
go to rub her soul in the discomfort
the ugliness of pain
all the persons departing
moaning into the floor the earth
to make other voices in the bombs
and the land was metal
to break the land of living
cunts wet with bullets

No comments:

Post a Comment