I take back what you have stolen and in your languages I announce I am now nameless.
My true name is a growl.
Margaret Atwood

13 April 2018

untitled (death be a Lady ~ a tale\tail in 13 lines)

breath disappears in a frosted glass
a high-lowball inhalation consumed by fire
whiskey or burbon, perhaps the consummate slow swirl
gin, juniper blue of flesh, as the bones rattle dance
within the conclave, eager for the expected exception
but paying praying at all altars encapsulates the shrine
in annihilation
it ceases to be anything other than sloppy lipped alter-aberration
the laws of ego ink decree it
corpses lie, in slow sweat satisfaction, after-burning a smoke halo
amber for the lifting, the mirth of le chล“ur magique
deaf before life in a small death
if luck is a Lady, petitioning herself resurrection

*

Magaly asks us to consider 13, to weave a spell, a tale - using between 3 and 13 non-consecutive words chosen from a quote she offers, and to use metaphor in the spell. 
Be bound in the unbinding I say. 

“People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.” Diane Setterfield "The Thirteenth Tale" 


10 comments:

  1. I can't play any instruments (my torture of drums don't count), and I can't sing, but if I ever form a band, I'm naming it Ego Ink Decree. Such a fantastic phrase...

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  2. Pat, I love all your words, and really the ones from the quote do not leap out at me as well as your own. Such an intricately wrought metaphor, which needs more than one reading to fully appreciate. Splendid.

    Whatever you have said about my voice - I echo it back to yours.

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    1. thanks for your generosity Kerry ๐Ÿƒ

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  3. I could see that nightclub in my head, and hear all the prayers from its denizens that they would be fortunate enough to experience le petite morte that night.

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  4. This is just stunning writing, so jam-packed with images that it should hardly be able to walk straight, and yet it dances them along to that magical inner choir as if they were weightless fluffs of cotton candy instead of brain-invading truths. I especially love the descriptions of liquor, so seductive, as only self-annihilating self-indulgence can be.." gin, juniper blue of flesh..." (!!!) how desire becomes physical enactment becomes consequence...and the conclave, the praying, the altars of the encapsulated shrine...pure poetry = winged words,skillful writing, and a sharpened shaft of message that both comes from and pierces the heart. Amazing, amazing stuff. I love it, and I'd quote more of it, but would end by quoting the whole thing.

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    1. thank you so much Hedge ~ I'm glad that you could pull/read beneath the obvious layers, that "le choeur magique" magic and souled implications managed to come into its own ๐Ÿƒ

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  5. Gorgeous words, gorgeously put together, seductive....

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  6. Those first few lines are so smooth! A bit like a crazy Moulin Rouge!

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  7. Luck be a lady and the lady is a tramp. I'd come fly with you any time, on the words you set on fire and leave for us to find.

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    1. aww ... damn, I'm grateful to share a broomstick and my chicken bones and broth with y'all .... so, shall we set a course for the moon? ๐Ÿƒ

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thanks for sharing your thoughts, I greatly appreciate it.