II. En filigrane

 

II. En filigrane

Plût au ciel que le lecteur, enhardi et devenu momentanément féroce comme ce qu'il lit, trouve, sans se désorienter, son chemin abrupt et sauvage […] –Chant Premier

Aside from a ray’s gill clefts opening, the fear-potentiated startle of this only
Discernment of floating sand grains beneath that layer of fluoride on the keel’s
Copper rivaled by only the emulsion of Saturn sky—To now shoeless feet, sparks
Of glass—Counterpantheons of digitized editions of Art in America, espied
On chabudai of this choice room of Vermilion Sands—Hope’s chiseled hand running
Opposite its long-stemmed rose; long before current therapeutics eliminated such grinds, Charles

Had written 14 scripts of ciprofloxacin that day, when runoff overran the consecrated banks of the Charles
Leaving behind the prints of what had been happening for year, in third worlds, only
An oyster plate partially invaded by vegetation—Subsistence having eliminated the need for Minton, Wedgwood, Gien, and Limoges, with the running
Tabs of commissions—Painting becomes a child’s game with non-staining images—Keels
Of such passions; nevertheless, laid up in the mind’s drydock—A stylus imperceptibly sparks
Thin-layer fluoroquinolone moiety on adsorbent silicon canvas, the primitive drawing with light spies

On simultaneous corporations of Picasso, the Futurists; all because some food-poisoned traveler spied
The utility in light sensitive antibiotics; then, if enjoying maithuna made one burn, for urethral implications—Doubtlessly, Charles Worth (1988), submits the latter’s nostalgic drive—Cunctation of deferent subjects, with the no longer fashioned iridium spark
Gaps—The K-T boundary, Earth’s entire meteoric spatter, is excavated, as the computers were salvaged of their gold—Only,
There is the tryst’s invading ghost of you, of Hope—Pinned under her, where the pile carpet reforms swamps; running,
The first of Unica Zürn’s Teflon eyes swelling into a navel’s borehole in Hans Bellmer’s dolls; shapely, not like her, and keeled

Over—As it happens, Tommaso Marinetti’s montagne x vallate x strade x Joffre (1915) remains, in Hope’s estimation, after keeling
Night’s sand sea, the Ancient Mariner’s Sun now rose upon the right (1797–98), the encased foam of the mantid’s nest spied
From youth’s riverbank—Immovable features of her solitude on Lizard Key, running
From—An anachronism, in this oxidizing atmosphere—From Lowell’s dark downward and vegetating kingdom / of the fish and reptile (1964), where the sparked
Pavements never anneal themselves—Unlike Hope’s electrochemically bonded opal mane, if to imitate an entire shoal; another variation of Mrs. Charles
Worth’s crackled gold-rimmed rightness, that makes me hold my breath as I try to set it down, only

The blood-stained jacket with the bullet hole was my attempt to solvate the wine stain—Only
Others wore it as a target, a labrys and menacing wing display, where there were just mirages of fauna made out over a balanced keel
Taken from the facile fabrication of a flower—Imagine my sitter’s horror, supposing the same from a Charles I
Equestrian portrait (1637–38), staring where fluorine substituents resettled on the veranda overnight—Withering into a mal du pays of Miró’s ocean energized by a cum stain; saying this, as if taken as a cipher from A Spy
In the House of Love (1954)—Born from caprice; yes, but absorbing every atrocity before we absconded Earth; human DNA remains the most efficient storage device despite overrunning
Nuclear casks; rampant misery specifying each region as Port from the Duoro—Of the soul’s spark,

What part did not intercalate, was gessoed with fluoroquinolones taken en masse; the instigating spark
Unknown, yet what was discarded glowed in the rising Sun—Turning all having taken the prophylaxis, having turned their dissolved tendons, into vats of animal glue, only
We attained passage on a transport to this Saturnine redout of gas; Mars was exhaustively mined, because consciousness overran

Its textbooks, and happening to be neglectful in following the dosage, we found the strategic basis of pan-pathogenic resistance—Striking the balance of massive antioxidants and UV light, we left the technicians to ruin that good thing; the keel
Bone splined, Cher déluge, to dabble in the peripheral blood agitated by the Hexagon’s jet streams—Supernatant of Charles
Henri Ford’s View (1941), before it was blue-penciled by the logical sets of operations, and spies

Collated, Miró‘s This Is the Color of My Dreams (1925); at last espied in our spinal interneurons—Its sparks infrequently roused in the human gait, often towards climax—
Keeling the fragments, which now lay in the darkness like pieces of a broken moon, overrunning Earth space’s labels for Saturn’s Inuit, Norse, and Gallic orbital groups—On myths
Only Charles Darwin; we channel here on rising low-tide liquid methane waterlines, onlooking Lyell’s specters of Serapeum (1828), the Aeneid’s entrance to the underworld, love, to defend creation—