Alison Ross


Synesthetic sins

Synesthetic sins taste like a whirlwind of nihilism.
Synesthetic sins smell like pyres of shadows.
Synesthetic sins sound like darkness drowning.

Our mother who art in heaven, hallowed be thy earth.
Forgive us mother, for we have sinned, synesthetically.



Moon void

The voice of the moon vanished, and we were left with nothing. The voice was never there. The music of the moon faded into a noiseless void. The music of the void vanished into a moon that was never there, and we were left with a voice. The voice was a void and the moon was music and the noise was never there. It was always the same: A voiceless void of noiseless moons, that vanished into a void of voices in a moonless noise.



What time is it?

Time hurtles forward, and humans denude the earth.

Time flows backwards, and earth undresses herself of humans.

But time doesn't have time for any of this shit, so earth denudes the humans who undress themselves of time.



Clockwise Cat publisher and editor, Alison Ross, pioneered the genre of Zen-Surrealism and uses that as her guiding aesthetic. Alison believes that poetic intuition knifes through the murk of the mundane and mutates mediocrity into a Utopia of the Dynamic. She is most recently published in SurVision Magazine. In addition, she is a staff writer for PopMatters.

 
 

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