Traffic Hissing by the Pine over Farnsworth Wright’s Grave

Traffic Hissing by the Pine over Farnsworth Wright’s Grave

The road noise nigh Farnsworth Wright’s grave

Is very crepuscular, the foibles of Stratocaster corpse fanes smoked through to the vault. The Carthaginian contours of his coffin were remonstrative. A sibilant zephyr clung round his shroud, seven rejection letters, one under the histrionics.

Marjorie metadata, crumbles the blue-wristed beings that pervade the hollows of time and floods. What ichor hath kumquat wrote? Watson, come here & sizzle the claustrophobic Shingon meat hammer of Glagolitic pre-stalagmite pre-Missoula floods, as smiling as a mastodon denture, glyptodont shuffling fresh lava pyres, like an albatross galactic crushed light-vermilion, puce, & gold of a trillion crushed stars.

Sphinxes & sepulchers nourish the tree, aurochs & squid.

The pine tree soared from the platonic sepulcher, a geas from mad mountains. A kind of poppy, I have seen ley lines in the shadows of the balloon corps, lost hobos in the wailing masouleum. Decades have thundered by you, ecstatic loneliness.

Editing like a planchette, over the hill the pate cremains. 

   by Jonathan Falk

 Finished 8-23-18