i.
senses awakened
like flowers the touch of silk
on her naked nape
ii.
inside the cool spire
sheltered from the sun, i find
seven lost flowers
iii.
As rain drops drum sounds
the pavement cries for mercy
birdsong melody
iv.
blue ice hangs like fruits
and crackly sound from afoot
landscape drawn with chalk
she’s a dream, she’s a nightmare,
she’s a beam, in the night’s stare,
she’s the sun, the dark side of the moon,
she’s on the run, frustrating fleeting boon.
she’s the sea, and the hidden cave,
she’s the tree, the unspoken stave,
the stealthy wolf, by the blood river’s bank,
a never ending gulf, she’s an abysmal pang.
she stepped in my way, god got mixed in the strings,
stood me on stage one day, she was put in the wings,
to fly once again, retire to her land,
of milk, honey and pain, she’s alone as she’d planned.
she’s the brick, in my pane,
she’s the ice, and the cooling frame,
she’s a trick, she’s insane,
she’s a ghost, in my open grave,
she’s a lure, an eternal game,
a flying star, an escape in vain.
she’s Phaedra’s Isle, and Eden’s hair,
she’s Medusa’s smile, and the Siren’s stare,
she’s heavenly sent, and a call to Hell,
she’s my only repent, and my tolling bell.
vast cleavage in a glorious landscape
the mount resounds
in renowned chants
like traces of time
she harps on stringent calls
stricken into motion
the chords of souls
relieved from the cave and
slowly up the slope
singing along from memory
with a tremor like
tetra lines
expanding corners
opening the shape
like tentacles
in sinusoid stand
reaching and arching
for unknown pleasures
in the acrid breeze
the voices repeat,
walk with acumen
to a sleep long forgotten.
gritty smile rides a
high pitched kiss and
frenzied lips like
wavery hands
drapes the rack,
she hangs on low
to a box beat – to a heart
teased
her pinched phrases
are relative relationships
between absent boundaries
insistent instances
of scratched skins scattered in
scathed landscape
plastering holes in a wall of sound
the snow covers her
pulse
slowly reaching
bodies bound in
shape and form
the textured speech of a
binary torture
swirls
pearly shine
strident
confident
solitary soul
in a pout of blue
the body moves around
the sound
curves and surrounds
curbs the frantic drive
the core chords
based on space
limbs shift
lift an airtight tone
like casimodo’s hands
fallen for the grace
of a ten steel string,
the wind buzzes on brass
blows and puffs across the surface
clouds are static
where is the wind?
where is the mouth of its lungs?
apply lips to reed
tickle the tongue
how can it make love
to the tubular
shape
and
move the surface of the ocean?
waves synchronise
curl in chronic rocking
cross their rhythms
clashing and breaking rolls
splatter on the shore
a nervous fret
when the storm has passed
the shoulder blades raised
sharp
neck extended
the body, resounding
heaves. the palm
hits a heartbeat
scratched strings
the sting of high
harmonics
a fish wriggles
twitch in the eye
wet sand
soprano
1/
I woke up this morning,
As you do. I woke up
This morning. I Opened
My eyes – after a while.
Living organism. Cells alive –
Awaking. I woke up
This morning. Pain. Bad feeling.
Wrong vibration.
Electrical energy
Pulse in the brain. Negative file
Thoughts travelling. Fuzzy
Data. Exchange; current
Running. Fuzz. Fuzz. Fuzz. Wave
Wave, bigger and bigger –
Faster. Fuzzy waves go
Slash, slash, lashing across
The tissues – 30 kHz
In staccato streaks
Djangy chunks cross cut networks
Phasing away. Out of
Control. Chemicals jump
From cell to cell. Patterns
Of radiation. Slice,
Slice, slice. Spliced thoughts
Electrical signals
Body moves on, shake
Cross section slash
Electrode attack
On receptors – 25 kHz
Ultrasonic dream djang
Djang djang strumming nerves
Like steel – strings electric
Vibration 20 kHz shriek
And decibels till my
Brains bleed. Storation
This morning I woke up
Describing a lesion
Cortex cross-section
Of the left. A zigzag
Swing bundles of fibres
Shake. Chip. Chip. Chip neurones
Shooting lines.
From horizon, to horizon.
Parietal lobe
Electrical probe.
There is activity. Fussy fuzz
Strips across the threshold
Excitatory regions
Axons cross the sky line
And time flashing past, I
Woke up this morning
Happy
To live.
2/
Take a walk. Direction
The street. Follow the lines
Stone. Crack. Stone. Crack. Steps
Into the centre. Cracked
Stone. Miss the line. Steps to
Nothing. Along the shops,
I step into a book
Walk around. Follow the shelves
Choice of covers. Language,
Linguistics, poetry, fiction, art,
Gender, gardens and sociology
Politics,
Correct psychology
Make up 18 kHz
Ear pricked, criteria:
Cover, colour, size,
Thickness. Touch the pages
Fit the shelves. Hard cover
To write on art. Funny
One this – philosophy
Outside, the sky stretches
From cover to cover
Follow the plot. If you
Need assistance ask a member of staff…………………………………………………………………………..
Stacks of paperbacks and
Hard-core covers facing
Out. Newly published in
Your hand. That’s good. 10 kHz,
Good size on the shelf. That’s
It – I take, he thought. Check
Out the price. Pay the till.
Slight tilt of the head
I woke up thinking this
Morning I bought a book
And a pen to write on
A pack of cards in my
Pocket. Scraps stashed away
I pick the king of Spades
Sit on a bench: poor choice of grass
Watch the action of town
Lines of cars zooming past
Zigzag workers, fussy customers,
Streaky carriers, paper boxes,
Cross-section of the street,
With green lights, white zebras.
Exchange at the corner
A busker jabs at a
Clangy guitar
Stripes of sound wafting past
Like the waves of the sea.
3/
This morning
I woke up in a sea
Of sound. Electrical
Discharges
From cell to cell
Strong surrealism
Phase fading out. Falls out
Recurring phrase. Pattern
Of speech. Expressionism.
A book with hard corners
By 5 kHz I
Entered the mid-tones of
A heart of gold with hints
Of shades of grey
Scale.
Fishing coins in my pocket
Thank the lady and read the cards
The cover is blue and hard
Bad omen, the king criss-crossed
A section of words. Severed trunk
Next paragraph on, notes pop
Splashes of softly spoken lines
Repeated thoughts. Enacted turn
Of phrases.
Softly singing seashells crashed against the shore
Sinking in ozone shields, my arms outstretched
Palms open to the ceiling
With a 3.600 Hz
Dream, I yawned a welcome
To the day. Cool it down
I said, fallen from the bed
I awoke, words crossed. Streaked carpet
A ragged rug on the floor.
Slowly sinking pretzel flowers splashed upon the floor
Singing in azure layers, the rug welcomed
My awakening. Eyes open wide
Page thirty 6, I cracked
My paperback. Hard lesion
Of the spine. Lines stretched across the grey
Sky outside
The cell.
Streaking cumulus a-
Cross a compact sky. Birds
That never sleep. Sustaining spell of
Apathy finally
Shunned, withdrawing symptoms,
Its withered waves from the morning sun
I woke up
It was morning.
As my brains came into gear, a great
Bulk of thoughts rasped a rapid rap
Zapped a few cells.
Circuit integrated
800 Hz in the price
Bar code across the sky
The city buzzes a
Thousand self same cells with
Fussy colours. Black bins
With gaudy mouths choke on
Chocolate boxes and
Burned buns
A mote of syrupy
Marmite on my lips, I
Look outside the kitchen
Window and shelve old thoughts
Files full of fluffy cushions remove
Marmite with a lick – a
Remote twitch in the eye
Of the morning. Page 73,
I pause to reposition my legs
Switch to the 530 Hz
Cycle. Probable cross-
Reference along the
Line of scattered sinusoidal
Scale. 390 Hz scratching
My skull with rusty fingers. The smell
Of iron in the cells
Locking position
The house of sleep.
4/
Trees were high with flaky
Leaves as I reached the street
Of non-existence.
Clouds and fluffy files flee
Move in puddles across
The hard covered texture
Of the carpet.
Maybe the sun will come
Out. Maybe the cells will
Stop to shake
Maybe the noise come down
To 60 Hz, partial
Subsound throb
The cards are all deranged –
No control, the future
Lies naked on the page
By the morning, the book
Emerged from beneath heavy sheets
Of King-size contemplation. Waves in
Hz hurtle a meter
Deeper cycles of sleep
Inside vibrations hurt
45 Hz and overcrowded
Cells in the centre’s maze:
A lost city. And its
Last children thrown in
Surge the square,
Flood the surgical solace with smiles
On their backs
Radiation of happiness
Pockets full of notes to
Keep the senses off work
Prescribing prozac like
Hot cakes
They supply
Periods of dream blankness
They must sustain the state
Distended, diluted
In the long waves of sleep
Force the depth
Oneiric cycles.
The crest furls at 27 Hz
Rumbles low in the loins
Proper Ride over Zion’s
Analgesic Children
When the dawning sun
Urges the sealed lids
To open, time for dreams
Is crammed in the small hours
Of morning. My brains
In a panic presses
Piles of nightmarish nymphs
And latent plots
To the drifting sleeper
I cringe at the loss of sound
Surrounding and inside
I surrender and dissolve in the mass
A lower flow forms a life of its own
At 20
The dream is now passed on
From head to head
Citizens united
In cells by the illusion
Caress the slender curves
With careless hands
The longer, the softer
The core energy once
Pared away of its cover
The last 7 Hz
Subtle drop
fundamental shake
Shake, shake.
Destruction of the cells.
Explosion.
it’s getting late sleepy eyes
black days overshadow our lies
walls of faces collapse
grey streets fall on its front
you’re turning fake dreamy eyes
your face tells too many different story lines
no one tells what’s right from wrong
just from the taste of words
just from the waste of sound
the weather is changing in your heart
the tether is gripping a lil tight
and all that you can grope
along this slippery slope
and all that you attach
to give you weight
only adds up to the fall
hervé perez, december 2009
nexttime studio 