Olchar E. Lindsann


                               Arc of Skin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“ tain eliptoid tremor of the Word, which, for wh ”
                -Antonin Artaud, Letter on Lautréamont.
                               ~~~~~~~~
“ resent tend dry fingernails inst ”
                -Isidore Ducasse, Letter to Auguste Poulet-Malassis.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

peeling like cadaver-nails the fleething lung
                                                             glistencurls like
                                                             a chalk-fed snail
corrupt with the word of or malerovant seed
                               breathe-rack scratching though the rats
                                                                            count lathes
                wratched in the conjugating dead

                nor lust nor clattering the crush of night
                                              belies in the slitting
                                                                               moon
                                                                            for which
                                              nor the rending scattles
                               weeping like a calendar
                                                                            the blind
                                              yet the spindle-riven
                                                                               laugh
                                                                            and gut
                                                             you like a pig



                               No-Boy Drives Home
                ~~~@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
                “ighway with bits of ”
                      -John M. Bennett, “No-Boy Murders the Boss” (L&FT 15)
                '~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@~~~

                thrumming thru the tarmac screaming
                “ahort!” thumping rubber ,no-Boy
                               blasts and simpers, pussing
                               from his sores he soars
through lanes crashbatters ,swerving ,leers
                               about him ,chortles ,veers
                               and gutters ,gleeful ,fain
                would plow into reverse. his car
                is burning ,he drinks oil from
                               his cup holder brimming
                                              with glassoline
                he smokes black curlthick column
                under mooning skies he flicks
his finger at the lightbox sirens sheering
                               through the dark his tires
                               threaded flayed afraid
the pricks that bash into the median
blow up ,he laughs and pounds his heel on the pedal
as he flies along the blacktop flaming
                shaking streaming rattled pops
                               his head off in an arc
                               and skids like a bomb
                                              into the shrieking
                                              travel plaza.



                                                             f  lame
                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                              “ ised brow arrayed
                In aureole of joyous pri ”
                                              -Philothée O'Neddy, Fire and Flame
                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                       “ umsy foot upon the fires of hell,
                That aureole, blazing upon the poet's brow,
                Like sacred flame that lights the shrine's mos ”
                                              -Petrus Borel, Rhapsodies
                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                              “ ts” , as for us a term has been set ,
                fire visits the brow of each , some apprehend , others
                only tremble slightly , afraid , still others go mad ”
                                              -Ivan Argüelles, comedy , divine , the
                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                               l'auréole, itsinge it, flash
                upon us et, the visit, passed abrow the
                skullset latitude, athena scraping
                               knuckles gainst the nervefrought walls
                               atrail dear gérard l, ashed
to apprehend the raptelt nor, the void r,
                                                                                           knelt n,
                                                                                                          the shrine 's, moss
                                                             *
                euterpe and calliope em ,broiled
upon the brow the, joyous sleering in the frost yet, pin,
                                              brûlée the
                                                             without eyes.
The flames eyes wrapt en, in or scorching toiled, hanged
                               abrupt or lamp the, post-the, of cruelty
                               traeh plucked from the flamechar ranged
across and lourdly, oedipus alean, upon the barricades
                               ableed or,
                                              in the rue d'
                                                                            enfer

                                                             *
                               shucked harshly NE
                                                                            ver work sp,lashed a
                                              cross the w, alls antonin, w ants
                               like a sacred flamesniffs, jam
                afraid, in the flash of text the v per, sleared,
involved within the toxin, pharmakon ,volved
harshly raembing, snap, national guard, c laretie y
                                                             next lastly, slyl y
                                                                            bore
                                                             in our own
                                                             alastor
                               's heart or liver on the ashbed
                                              smoked away the ,shore

                                                             *
                                                                            my friend th
                                                             e cricket, in th
                hearth or explicating on the roof
                               in the glow th ,adness in th,
                                              in a satin of text
toxin glow, or at joyous on the brow moss, with knit
                               fold itna t, he walls he or
                               domesticate the tonguespar,k now
                                              where lord patchogue th
                               ought to
                ,stampsligh ,t
cut across the in with
                                              the flame of




Olchar E. Lindsann is a co-founder of the Post-NeoAbsurdist network and has published around forty books of poetry, critical theory, and avant-garde history, and has performed sound poetry across the US and UK. He is the editor of mOnocle-Lash Anti-Press and the journals in-Appropriated Press and Rêvenance: Hauntings from Underground Histories. He lives in Roanoke, Virginia where he teaches at a progressive alternative high school and co-organizes the AfterMAF Festival, and maintains several archive dedicated to various aspects of the contemporary and historical avant-garde.
 
 
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