20180313

AG Davis


ON DESPAIR

Of (soul) any, any, (sold) anything detour(s) the diasporas sunning; I barely withstand any localized eternal detour, only the cul-de-sac of REASON, only the cul-de-sac of ETERNAL MALFUNCTION. I only withstand dead-ends of static, knowing this HERE, as god births our rights, as GOD clones FAITH / icy time-lit contextual gangrened my alphabet: my words as simple nothings. A death-blanket frozen softener laxative of mind, so I shift and drift off barely withstanding. This wraith wrapping-wiggling-mind, right here, I swear too little, or too much; I grow this much bigger.

I enveloped the wound-pear radiance heliotrope because of my childishness sinking down, down, down, down — DOWN. I submerge wordless spittle in leniency. With nothing, nailed entrails screeching tormented tambourine thistles; Christ was asymptotic terra-bled at blameworthy throat to reprove the magnetic villainous tassel; but loveless, I valley foiled reconnoiter reprobate raillery (in closet type steeples).

Maelstrom taxidermy would like to be taxed, tanned and tapestry; forsooth, I grow; I grow on this peevish candle-mind as it groans. Emblematic of holographic sutures, the lineaments of time dangle chemically, electrically (with Beuys in his hare faction off ground on robotic display tricking clown hat(s)); hence, thought tarnished the red penning awry, seedless while making letters conjoined at slipping motions; and I make amends for possibilities, as there are no other awaits on leaning forward. Sup on future; collect the bon vivant bone errs: this is telephonic interpolation phantasmagoria.

Vixen mire orchard fragmented idolatry, blameworthy stroke prim the annihilator mark, and epistolary hearsay embroidered. Stealth dips flux. Then We Starved. The miser en scène course thrice mucosa undressed. Thrown divided nearer blackguarding the sapling: bloodily-lily diaphragm by sinners slow, slow, slow, slow — SLOWLY. The archeological conglomerate upraised faulty abortions. Frisky kitten plugged orange crab luncheons into abstract computations; the buffet has been nerved with machinery (redo my past). Pull-out at zero. Animism is inaudibly subpar.

My lord succors to pinch my tightly winched foam flailing underneath bones and carriages.

Her voice is crimped blasé anfractuous   torments.

When we delve, we are arisen to falling.




AG Davis was born in 1984; heterodox Christian, former pimp, recovering addict, sound poet, author of the hypermodernist novel Bathory published by Abstract Editions in 2016, occasional photographer and painter, lover of all things absurd, etc. etc. etc.
 
 
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