Matt Hill


from Pellucid Inferno


Chez Lunatique

Fresh visits to Chez Lunatique, this destiny spot lurking here somewhere in the ruins of the unread leaves, where the reach exceeds the grasp, in this wayward world of no boundaries, this whirled work done in the complicated shadows, by absorbing various ambient influences of lunatic fashion, with vague partners in ambiguity serving as angles of collateral influence, then to fall back upon a unique inventory of scars; and, by some duly diligent promiscuous thinking, we have internal teardowns on fresh errors like you’ve never seen, even as we look rough while talking polished, this done by transparently rewriting ourselves, referencing all that is not-so-obvious by a revived focus made fast and furious, done as we watch the language bleed next to where the shadows intersect, only to smell a blue silence under a fastly fading archaic sky …


Sum Anticdotes

She had sent me postcards of melting glaciers in Kashmir, and sunsets in Antarctica, while the transiting of Venus continued over me out in the far western nights; we began with the odds, but not the chances, as the passion had flared and failed, even as my first offering to her was the illusion of myself; we hoped the passion didn’t involve an unexpected trainwreck, but apparently it did, as her eyes were full of future mirages; an emulsion of love and suffering ensued as we did our desultory traipse through the blue echoes of intrapersonal ruins; the flirtatious overlays started going rancid, then the DNA became unfaithful while the suspicious atmosphere burned around us; and sure enough, the union showed signs of uncivility, but that had really only been the adhesive, until there were thermonuclear meltdowns in the last twilights; we then sailed on through the disputed waters, we stole the days, we defaulted to the secretive ways of our last stands, she with shopping-enabled processes, me with frantic short selling to cover it all, and certainly, it all did go painfully awry as we sowed those careless seeds of such fertile chaos …


Late Momentums

Not rocked by defeat, even with multiple mistakes made, old fangled yet freshly mangled, enduring collapse, yet deflecting much inanity with a firm intent to proceed, kind of like the intrepid initiative of weeds; so why do essential dignities get ignored, while certain indignities get highlighted, although I must say this narrative is not strictly some kind of memoir, nor is it an unscripted fairy tale; nor is it about the wreckage of lost expeditions, or some compelling history of chutzpah; nor is it easier than eating a pear by moonlight, or all about averting the narrow windows of tragedy; no, this is about the strengthening presence of storm clouds, about the up-ahead liquid light of visions, and finally, about making peace with your territory, even if it might be twenty years too late …



Still residing in Northern California, Matt Hill is a sculptor and poet working within the process that has been called Disjunctive Synthesis. A new ebook of poetry, Amalgamated Fragments, will be published by Differentia Press in August 2013.
 
 
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