OKAY. All of these
poems are sensual.
Diamond Brand is trying a new Poetic technique wherein words are linked to colors which are linked to places on the body. Some Shongas call these "THE CHAKRAS". The Poems will work without spiritual belief. There is no need to think about what they are saying. The
words work together to evoke memories in the body. A color poem works by being
held where it hits. The “hitting” may not come from the page but from the back
of the spine, or down from the heart, or early in the memory, or late in the
humor. They are purely for your physical enjoyment. Some of them may feel
uncomfortable, like wearing tight clothing or being nervous. They are designed
that way. Others may feel too good or too ripe. You might need to have an
orgasm. That is okay. Do you want to rub your body on surfaces after reading
the poems? The part of your body that you want to rub is the part activated bywords.
Words have a physical element, and these poems are hand sounded to stimulate.
RED (GROIN, DUH)
Sex Driver, Whisper monger
Groan
Deep lizard lover
Hover closer
Loin peeler
Meat taster
Whine courses of thrust horse
To my teeth wench
Eat harder
Eat harder
Vervain stick sucker
Reaming broil brittle
Scald mellow, I trust you, faster.
BLUE/SEAFOAM (ABILITY TO SPEAK/THROAT)
Denim on coral
Like linen on forearms
We search for
diamonds in rocks at the sea
We succumb to
combing
To calories
To yarrow
We earn our keep
In loitering
In hovering
O’er shells
Oh Morgans and Daphnes
Petunia our
strength
We forage
For fortune
Our courage
Works tidal
Denim on corral
Our
diamonds to keep
GREEN
ALLIGATOR SHIT
(TO BE READ ALOUD WITH YOUR STOMACH MUSCLES CLENCHED AND
YOUR HEART ALERT)
There is an algae
vision of winter glow
And a muscle memory
to swiping credit
We heard you were
going now
To see your aunt
and mother
In a fabric factory
Where linen tastes
like celluiod, silk tastes like lime
Where acrylic is
too young to be worn
Where syntax is
expensive and the devil
Sings midnight on the
Jungle Lane
We heard you were
going to meet the Violet Princess
With a sensitive
ring finger and tight sixth sense
Please tell her
we’re craving
A little backgammon
tonight
We can rip a
picture of Julius Ceasar
And fondle our
childhoods with nylon and wire
We will have to get
together whenever we can
To visit and clench
And puncture the
sinews again
Before the
collision sunset hints lust
And dangles
twilight
Over the windows
Over dust
PURPLE (Highest
consciousness… TOP OF YOUR HEAD)
(JANIS JOPLIN’S
HOUSE)
Hello Soldier
Just dreaming of
the chamber?
Of earning turkey
with silence?
Of quiet penance
born?
Where do roses hang
their torture?
Where do poets aim
their hams?
Reach under your
bedclothes, and hunger
For a moment,
linger
Touch November
there
French your season
For no tender
sister fair would wallow without reason
Handle gropes of
slumber, rouge, tinder, volume
See matter as you
hallow it
Harlot, sinking or
violet
Dazzle us
Orifices of
tigerlily
Fragrant nasturtium
Inventor of cream
machinery, oh take me,
Quench me slowly in
ringlet matrimony
When you leave touch
everything
Lick the curtains
and velour
Pour out your
shoulders with temptation
Plunge forward
through the milk
Spray long water on
the hardwood
And curdle,
Please bridal,
idle, a little longer
Double candle,
taste the silver
suck the metal
On the door
THINK WITH YOUR BODY
No comments:
Post a Comment