as i was saying in the other thread, luke was at his most genre fictiony during this time period. his most accesible and immediate.Spring. The primroses are out
and the worst has already happened.
The Threshold has been crossed. There
is no longer any Inside, any Out. No
Sanctuary, no Stronghold, no Escape
no Hiding Place. Horror
beyond endurance and here,
we endure. Hell.
And as they ate, scorpions appeared in the dust about their feet.
simple. direct. love it.Collapse of all boundaries and all discrimination. Mind shredded. Bone grinding against bone. Mind shearing. We are broken. Nothing coheres. Nothing is allowed to cohere. No separation, no sanctuary, no hiding place.
it's great that the shape of it all goes all wank after the line "Before a thing can form it is torn apart".Before a thing can form it is torn apart. This is what it means to be expelled from The Circle.
Scabrous entanglement barbaric legislature. Time captive how here in time captive quicklime help us direct intrusion into earth affairs bolt of lightning
and nothing ever
the same again. We move through the
passages. and changed.
grotesque imposition struck sent sideways reeling with the impact not again.
April. And the primroses are out
pallid yellow petalled in the lawn.
Parade of idiots file past the grimy window. Shell oil. Dull paramour. Dumb anguish
Not again. Wicked is the mistletoe
Wicked is the oak. Sturdy is the cross
the honest earth.
Vagrant moment passing breath lost, another breath lost
Closer to the end. Cooked goose gathering, not again.
this poem's luke at his most romantic (and i presume it was the romantic poets who are the poetry equivalent of pop). nature as this serene salvation consoling you from the onslaught of manmade ugliness:We are permitted a meadow. Thick, slow sunlight
grasshoppers. Something entirely sensual, the body pleasured
and purring. Grass tattooing the skin. The Vale of Beulah. We are permitted
Primroses. Dandelions. Trees musical with gathered birds.
Steel rod shattering the skull. Gather drunk bellow. In the very ugly brutal
in the very mean it is, the very mean. Not just yet, no, no, not just yet, leave me here,
in sin with the sinners, neon over the shadowed doorways and we're here again
getting it all wrong again, alive again, and with the tiniest of miscalculations, we're here again, in Hell.