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victordesilentio

Monthly Archives: December 2017

nov ve are free

31 Sunday Dec 2017

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community, la plubelle, meryl streep, pubic libraries

She terrifies her parents by walking amid

the olive trees.  they say that there

is glass underneath the pebbles, sharp and broken

glasses, left by homer and

broken by Ulysses.

‘the philosophy,

you can’t handle it, we rhymes words

here, beyond what you can imagine.  we’re

new, physical, vibrations outside of

time.’

She takes up Jefferson Davis’s

pose, and freezes in bronze, the

winter’s metal, the one first smelted

at Mzaar.  She falls in the future, when foreigners

touch her fingers, when they feel

what are fragments.

 

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swelling lives/knives/hives

30 Saturday Dec 2017

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fruit punches, jump rope, municipal fountains, tomatoes

a group of men in the late afternoon

and with cigarette embers for eyes,

run through your building.  the children that

you’ve watched play are hiding under the stairs.  your fiance

is running to see, to bring you

soup to help you feel better.  the japanese shoes

at your step, clacking into the

oceans beside your housing.

go out talk to real people

29 Friday Dec 2017

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fruit loops, hoosiers, orange juice, zelda: the force awakens

silver, metal horses, galluping

into your mouth, seventy

pills, aquatic battles for your

life.  so much depends

on the light fixtures at

the ends of the street.  I walk to oneside,

i see into your

window and then we never see each other again.

she remembers this when she goes to rome

27 Wednesday Dec 2017

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aussie accents, brussel sprouts, dinah shore, wet fingers

the younger of the daughters

feels teal carpet on her

palms, she expressed that she didn’t

want to leave, to wake up and turn

the music on, but her father

knows that schools begun earlier

this day, that the women were off to be replaced

by these girls in her

class, the ones who haven’t learned to

be nice yet.

all cats deserve to fly

26 Tuesday Dec 2017

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consumer trends, cross dressing irishmen, donnie darko, fanned flames

you wish you were a cat,

hidding behind wheels and

palm leaves.  you wish you were at the

storming of the beachhead, if there

weren’t any bombings.  you run for

the alleyways, the police coming up

behind you.  where is your home, where is

your home country, where is

your hotel, where is the friends you told

us you have.  pores on an orange have

less zest than your

imagination.

voulez vous pariez avec moi, ce soir

25 Monday Dec 2017

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cannibals, hot sandwiches, new world, willy

If there was a night that

was blue, where would you find

the crayons to colour it?

and red?  and purple?  if the light hid

behind the moon, would you know what

to call it?  behind saturn?  behind pluto?

if i could see daytime and also taste it

would i still no to be awake?

and

feel it?  and smell it?  welcome to the apocalypse,

my nightly visitor.

fizz off the side of a glass

24 Sunday Dec 2017

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lou, marone, nimbleness, suraname

a mouth full of soggy pizza, dipped

in coffee con leche.  the police man

waits for the pair to

break the fourteenth commandment,

the

law sent down when the

mist came, when the

world changed from

round to square.

sadulting

23 Saturday Dec 2017

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best ever, candle light, defiance, joe jackson

he runs through the jungle of cement vines and

neon leaves, organic love, fabricated

intoxication.  his hands are

not covered in lace, nor are they

dripping in hair conditioner.  he stays

hiding in a shop, holding

the organs of the future, the fossils

of our fuel.  a vision of monogamy

is a mirage, advertised in the windows.  he

waits for the future.

welcome to zhe fireworks

22 Friday Dec 2017

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bois, darkweb, deliveries, kanata

he holds a plane of crickets

above his head, making noises

sporadically.  the twilight waits for him to let them go

and the group of teens with a

guitar, the music drifts up like smoke and

the weed is still, frozen as if there

was ice in their mouths, their lungs and their

throats.  he falls over, collapses and

turning ashes into ink and

writting the night on the sky.

fragments of miracles shedding from the sky.

21 Thursday Dec 2017

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come ons, dr scholls, pastry, spoiled rims

when the fawn drifts into the

open field, a cascade of

gatorade sheds down from

the sky.  it covers the deer in electric blue,

soft hands covers the fur, soft love

strokes the cheeks of

the desert.  a woman in

camouflage stands beside what is

sacred, steps into it, lifts the cooler

of holy water abover her head.

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