00109 : September 1992 : Primamorosity : Flawndol
An organ of ISOCPHYS.
Founded in 1992 by a “sestina of polylexical exiles.”
ISOCPHYS-Certified Owlstain Community Member (ICOCM)
Château Methuen
Owlstain, FZ 23632
Communicated by Kiko Devi, August 13, 1992.
introduction
There’s a place on the Yellow Steel river just west of Trans-Tetrastics 13 and the crumbled blocks of concrete below the bridge of highway that crosses there.
You stand on the cliff edge high above the south bank (1) and face the expanse of live oak and cottonwood, juniper and mesquite that fades into the plains lining the northwestern horizon.
In a wide still part of the river beside the north bank, the shadow of a fish is moving over the pebble strewn bed.
You see the fish itself as it swims beneath an autumn yellowed sycamore leaf.
methods and materials
This couple, this relationship of man and woman, is a knotted trail of pain, self-doubt, hatred and anger, is a poem (2) that continually regenerates itself, a poem (3) lived with every day and revised as new words, new meanings to be placed within the notes of its composition, are discovered. There are holes in its grammar (4) that gape like the maw (5) of a strip mine, great chunks of space scattered among the i) I love yous, ii) I need yous, iii) I want yous, and iv) I hate yous — holes with a dreadful longing to be filled. There are other holes that wish simply to left alone.
You start with a shack (6). It is composed of boards joined hastily together. It can easily fall apart and it often does. But it is rebuilt patiently: painfully the beams are lined up again, the cracks sealed, a new roof nailed on. Eventually you have a house grown strong as well exercised muscles (7, 8).
results
It’s been thundering for some time now, the dark clouds have moved overhead and filled the sky; they began their journey from the southeast late this morning. Earlier, the sky was clear.
The continuous light mists that fall all day without let up are more common to cold weather, to autumn and winter days after a norther has moved in than they are to midsummer when the rain comes down in wave after wave of big pounding drops that soak you quickly and make any hard surface appear to be under two inches of boiling water, big pounding drops that slow gradually, get smaller, then stop; only to continue in a few minutes as a steady downpour that may last for hours or sometimes days, a downpour accompanied by lightning and long rolling thunder (9).
Afterwards, steam rises from the streets, from the lawns, from housetops and cartops.
discussion
When it flashfloods, the water collects and pools on the surface of the ground, is not absorbed by the ground because the earth’s been dry for too long and it’s not yet ready to receive the rain: the ground slowly absorbs the first rain that caused, is, the flashflood. The second rain soaks in more quickly.
But there’s also an opposite phenomenon when it’s been raining for a long time: the ground absorbs all it can absorb; the soft clay and sand deposits act like sponges until they’re full, then the excess water is dumped into the streams and rivers and lakes that rise to flood the lowlands and in places where streams run but once or twice a year or usually not at all, there are now rivers washing earth away from fallow soybean and cotton fields, rushing between limestone (10) and sandstone cliffs, carrying dead bloated cattle and empty plastic one gallon milk bottles.
conclusion
To be waiting in late afternoon rain. Warm rain. And cars are driving by making the wet tires on wet pavement sound that cars make when it rains. On the sidewalk plates of water reflect the legs of people rushing for the dryness that hides under storefront eaves. Rain drips from the storefront eaves. Wind blowing and the rain arcs down like swans’ necks drooping. Rain spray and rain drops bent randomly by stray wind. Rain spray striking faces. Shoes wet and wet socks sloshing. A slapped face burns with hate, with shame. The wind is getting colder, the rain is turning chill. Almost imperceptibly it’s getting dark. The rain is hard, it stings the face when it’s hard, it stings the face and the wind is from the north. The rain leaves the face red like a slap, it leaves its own tears (11).
notes and references
as you whispered
it to me the song
of your body
the song of your body
edging along mine my hand
brushes over you your body
your hand brushes me and I
am sinking in
to you
and we are drowning
and the slow song
of your body
its rhythm is our body
it is our four hands over hipcurve
along back
to stomach to the elegant
rise of the breasts
it is our two
mouths
desperately
as we bite armpits nipples
neck the spine
arches
belly to belly
pelvis
into pelvis grinding
into the orgasm
which is the song
of our body.
retains an image
of the body
the growing hardness
of the clitoris
the deep circular rhythm
that’ll bring you forth
into the full blossom
of orgasm
this harsh luminous resonance
echoes itself out
under the stars
the reverent eyes
of the gods.