Thursday, September 14, 2006

mORDANT aCHE*

It’s raining and my radium shoulder plug is aching, so it is, a coppice tamped into place with a surgeon’s mallet. As radium has no self-consciousnesses or a sentient care in the world, I see no end to this painful rejoining, this mordant ache, the smarting in the joist of my shoulder, this menacing menace.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz