Apologies To Wind

Blog post # 120:

Cyclically Upended


Underside Of Apparitions



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(First a poem, then more below.)

Airscrew
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Those two wings of a despised void
within them, they
Pivoted about an iridescent fulcrum,
ha. And they
Both curled counterclockwise,
yet in opposition. For,
They floated as all swirling feathers,
as all
Torquey fluids therefore
mathematically circular
And mandalic.
Oh, between their frustums,
This emptiness displayed its
cusps and ribbons. But
It too swirled. However,
it seemed to be vertically
Upended and flowing.
There, the contraption
Swung into cyclic stillness,
rotating forth as
A whirlwind and ascending
as an unimpressive
Bug. Yes, it ascended as
imagination's ghost yet
Hallucinated and alone.
Oh, the thermals did
Become that object.
And skyward, it betrayed
The ground in its gaining.
Yes, its laziness was
Only in its horizontality.
Yet it now slants
And rises unto its collapse
upon cosmos' spectacle
Above it. It rises unto its
collapse again upon
The universe's form overwhelming
and now spinning,
Now asymmetrical.
And despite all, everything's axis
Has achieved existence via such
an impaired artifice,
Via such ambidextrous breath
surely actuated.

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Anagram:

The Gothic Sun

=

Nice Thoughts

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Bible = Buy-Bull

(Sorry, but this word-play is true, I think.)

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Orange seems like such a bland color to me. Yet it is between the colors of red and yellow on the spectrum, and those colors can be quite brilliant. But orange is the color of orange juice, which is tangy. So, maybe orange is a tangy color, if not a brilliant one.

PS: I know, I know, orange can indeed be brilliant. I am just repeating here what I read in a dream.

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In the future, I think it will be so easy to travel about the world -- with super-fast and cheap transport and the easing of travel restrictions -- that the majority of people won't even remember which countries they have visited in their lives.

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Another poem. (Sorry.)

A Spiral Of Slender Disregard
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If such a spiral of slender disregard
curves but
Once then turns but twice,
does it foresee
Its angular transposition
upon its own
Conjoining? Ah.
This twisting coil does impurely
Implode yet against its underside,
true. However,
Its breath is cleaved into
its wings as quite
A cursive butterfly.
If such a spiral does lift
To dream of the shadows of
colossal asymmetries,
Will those syrupy apparitions
that are its
Substances become the rotation
of certain bugs?
Yes, into this spinning of a
curled thought,
The spiral is surely as
flavors and string
All flowing rancidly
through our sky,
Through cosmic ellipsoids
containing us
And our equilateral wings
unsurpassed by
The spirals of disregard
shouting intravenously.

--

[Is "rancidly" a word? It should be one.]

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Leroy