thru smut
you punk blanch
you bleaching punter
you have the sea
the coiled bus you then mast
the sham huntings of harp of flight
of bestemming yon lingam
the ear toneless
that strikes nervously thru
he’s your weak fiat
has sierras
bed hens
that the toe kennels keck
without the objectified
levitate
the estuary of her male handholds
the follow-up dog of hunting villains
& suture from outside
from cahoots from cunning
under oath it falls up
sows cold & ugly fingers
& without the leaves diapered
or crimpled
enfeebles that crummy arch
from her debugged moats
handholds thicken the entity
that then thread your undermine
*a note on process: i generally used the process discussed here (after the poem) with some minor changes. i collaged a little w/ my pre- & post-translated text when i felt word choice benefitted & i translated the original text through two cycles using french, dutch, & portugese, going back to english twice. i removed all linebreaks before translation then added line breaks to the final text as i saw fit. the poem i started with was something i wrote in highschool called saturday afternoon, the text of which is:
saturday afternoon
they sat on a park bench
cooled by a thin mist
she ran her hands through her hair
nervously stroking her wool coat
he stared at his feet
aimlessly kicking red-gold leaves
back and forth
he took her hand
and stared off at passing cars
her hand felt cold and clammy
her fingers thin and lifeless
like crumpled leaves.
the sprinkles
began to thicken into a drizzle
the sun invisible
behind a thick band of gray clouds
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4 comments:
I'm not sure what I think..
that made me laugh, a lot...
your gibberish makes me laugh
then it is worth something...
good.
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