Saturday, March 26, 2016

Shimmer Vertigollo, a poem by Harrison Aye


.
Shimmer vertigollo,
wavestaking vibrato,
pulsing tan texture paint
like a drop, dripping pool
refract, loosen.
A man who sees the rattlebreaks and expandifuls
reach into the wall and
shimmer
.
I remember the police officers parked in the cornfield nearby. The lights flashed on and I thought I never thought out the way in which this would end. I just wanted to stop and look out—connect the speckles above the country road. The city never turned off to allow shows like these, and the moon could never be full during the threeseason rain. I was told to go but I kept you anyway and the night only got dimmer.
.
g.g.glisten now,
hear the sombr.ro dusting
kicked around, circuline dancers
str.tch the allmatter,
a curling fingervine.
Makes me tremble, boggle
collapse or t.mble.
Gets me out, makes me
sav.ry makes me
shimmer
.
I remember morning moaning and meandering calltalks. I got put off for everything I didn’t want anymore anyway in any stretch of this slippery string of thought. I just wanted to be normal; I wanted the glass teardrop eyeliner streaks down the sides of your faces. I wanted to see your cheeks wet with glass sadness. I wanted you to shatter.
.
I see now
wheedle carrymores.
High stakes.and frost on flakes,
barrels fall.ng d.wn the hill
tr.pw.re casanova
Shatters against the iron walls of indifference.
breaks .gainst th. heritic lyric
toenail cracks on the
shimmer
.
I remember the parsed way you told me about love. How four letters shrunk to three: L. U. V. Like popsicle sticks in the craftiverse, towering planets and plants, and the folding arms that made me shiver. All the lip I can bite but nothing does. The whispering man hears me alone and his smile makes me flutter, makes me quiver.
.
.tav. off t.. bow,
.u.cl.ng .o.al.n..
.k.pt.cal, tact.cal
l.k. a block, blown to b.t.
fo..at.on. .ad.al, t.u.t
.. now
t.u.t.ng .ow
T.t....d to you. f..t and
b.auty boundca.t .ak.. ..
......
.
I remember the feeling of not knowing not caring. I couldn’t move for width or word whichever way I went I did. I lost my balance, and with it my perspective. I touched the wall at nights and felt the high gloss tan apartment paint and pushed through it so hard so very hard. I felt the marble benches and told her what I had read. I walked through the springtime rain and walked through the sounding paths against the scaly rails. I watched the water watched the speckled night and hoped someday they’d shimmer.
.