sábado, fevereiro 09, 2013

High Saturated Beauty

Against snow, a tall Beautiful Being. Whistlings of death and circles of muffled music make this adored body rise, swell and tremble like a ghost; scarlet and black wounds open in the magnificent flesh. The actual colours of life darken, dance, and emerge around the Vision as it takes shape. And shudders arise and rumble, and the frenetic taste of these effects weighted down with the mortal whistlings and raucous music that the world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty, - she backs off, she stands up. Oh! our bones are clad with a new loving body.

O the ashen face, the horsehair escutcheon, the arms of crystal! the cannon on which I must hurl myself through the scrum of trees and light air!


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