Thursday, August 25, 2016
Prose-Cartoon Epic By Adam Engel
Adam Engel lives in NYC, where he studied and taught at several universities, administered corporate systems, published numerous poems, stories, essays, articles and four books, Topiary, Cella Fantastik, and I Hope My Corpse Gives you the Plague, and most recently, root (Oliver Arts & Open Press, 2016).
Blunder Gaze of Cosmic Eye
Botched job in the kitchen. The wretched boy refused Death's protocol progression from decay to rot to never-been: and similar trends from which The Strong derive.
Ten million stories none fulfilled.
If Past won’t change what is: what is to come? And when?
Patterns of action-movement brought no Be: not much doing: nothing done.
Facsimiles of movement forged by repetition. Much said nothing done.
Plotting sorts-of-sit: derivatives of sat.
Attempts to replicate the rush of musk allure: as-if entranced by potent tinctures of herself.
As-if: yesterday's high.
Enough as-if to lure as Lure itself had lured – long time ago. As-if effused her being and her telling: vernacular of consequence: speech-tick: My-Tale signal: evidence of Self.
Evidence not proof: but still: inspired strong imperatives of Love that Love delighted in repeating.
Each one must explain what makes one one: eventually.
For anyone could understand if anyone would know: that what had been should have been without regret as consequence of might have could have would have been.
Second-guess of deep-absurd: ridiculous in pull-back relative to all that’s been and all who've suffered – and to what extent – the blunder gaze of Cosmic Eye.
But still: the second guess: the third...
Pain and Loss
Dead kid in a slip-shod kitchen.
Love's wretched life-course (murder of Self? abort of Other?). Pain and Loss.
Desire for completion or extreme. These are difficult themes. Love attempted to transform. Smoke of heartless drift a bitter blow: oh: Empty Memory of shadow-strangers in the glass!
Protagonist Love Interest
I knew Love. A difficult complete. Consistently. One two three slips here-there mere error: perhaps odd – perverse? – penchant for novelty: tilting avant garde.
consistency is pattern: pattern is pathology.
Love had problems. I loved Love. I had problems.
Night Entered with Drama
I tried to talk then fuck Love to completion.
Pain ensued and Loss.
Long ago we saw trees bloom sooty flowers in the park and we resolved to solve what-ever resolve – and teaching fellowships – would solve for once and god-damned all.
First time this life I knew core definition of hard-deep: but could not leave the only world I'd ever known.
Night entered with drama: velvet cape of terrifying atmosphere. Confusion-frightened of Time's brevity I dreaded physical decline.
Recollections of What's Never Been
The Kid believed in Dad.
Wherefore why-for whence this vanishing of Home?
Filmic mind-stuff: recollections of what's-never-been: spectral street-banquets of everything-everywhere-and-all sucked life-blood from what lived: as-if not born of Love: as-if Love splashed smoldering glands with cold white paint: a cagey ruse to dodge pain-tedium completely heinous to conceive: token of lunatic dreams sown long-faraway ago.
Mute Gesture Command
Proximity of Home disturbed me to disgust with full intent to mock: possessed of a hate too intimate-revealing of one's first-expose – in awe-repulse – to mute gesture command: of life: of consequence. My virgin score.
I daydreamed more than mere possession: proprioception: saw furious camouflage in membranes of Love’s womb.
So many moments etched on skin distorted to weird and worse by Time: grim patriarch: progenitor of Pain and Loss.
Ghosts Laughed at My Suit
Alone in Love’s botched kitchen I was exhausted.
Ghosts laughed at my suit: poor tired spirits: demented by Night's forced after-death parade through desert-smears of Pain and Loss: to each his own significance and Other.
Experience amplified thunderous: repeated and exchanged: like prisoners trade cigarettes: dream-currency of trapped-entombed.
Confusion staggered after Night alone. Resolution pounded feral at the door. Desire smashed my daze of words with palpable thingness of a weapon.
Steel-bone recognition: not-Pain not-Loss not-Love nor any other.
I cocked aimed fired my last first sentence to completion.