sky of the
psychology of the
your angel death
Random Stone.3.Salamacis’ FountainSalamacis’ fountain breaks these surfaced
wildlings; effeminate spring shamelessly
enfettered, weighed, sold tonic from unkempt
barbers, with taverns, paired, as legend speaks.
Enticed brigands of acorn hoards, by acorn,
civilized sips anoint those rights, earnings
respect, or at least, that’s the stale that’s sold.
Sometimes though articles of mixed garbage
sciences, relate; scratched buys bits by waste tells
of someone’s spread, to taking other’s talking
earthbound rebranding taking place. Shook the
lands, fluffed the comforter; spiteful razing
consumes tunes bound to boundaries flickered by
slights of wrist twisting shouts loud.
Milo of CrotonFamous sportsmen, whether Olympic oiled,
grand anemic, or other gamed frames displayed;
waving fronds of palm and in pausance crowned
triumphant, fourly horsed, lead reign pulling,
but what has Milo brought, for Croton, back,
unconquered? What pressed advantage, playing
with those fed to lifetime’s snibblet of nuns,
compares groundlings to sward fields growing
leaves everheld with gum and sewn in packs
everpressed, flowering harvests spreading
windowed out with life? Hence squat continues?
What example, but memorized in traced
pediment’s ungainly step through lip skimming?
Or leastly spared by the barbed ranks there filed?
Random Stone.6.Random StoneRandom stone walling lays hardly random.
Taught eye, trained to pass up the quoins to see
contained in the corniced high those planning
marks, is still looked past peeky-blinders. The
ancient code cyphered , struck with rock sentence
and jointed algebras stretched thorough lined,
remains abstruse. Only the eyes practiced,
maimed, andor hardened, can backtrack the wall,
backtrack intentions through twos, fours, sixes,
and rules threes racing runs or threes holed up.
Randomness making appear’nce’s shadowed
head serpent stone’s viewed side hiding the rest,
andor found once pained affronts the gimmick’s
test; nothing’s so planned than angels laid stoned.
Eyes in Your Smoke
Mischievousthere gripping yardarm Chiron’s boat upside downward dragging
Momus wal’ng pace beside trudging boatman’s thigh tal’ng smack
while flowered swimming meadows that impress andor beckon
captain ‘rbours they gingered topics spoken coaxed fo’ard pressed
out crosswalk walkway wayfare field complaint footings finding
beckons res’ng now Chiron’s motions furthered spot ope’d glade
and growling ordered Momus stop glistened toptalk downtimed
boosting couldn’t mend humours calling sunlight on chea’ng hands
twist clasping under upturned bark’s keeling darkness kneeling
within ‘shroom circ panting escaped Mischief’s gaze ray’ng eyes.
found in the
final reversal of
the heart, a
lament and that
sounds like the
Russell Carisse is currently living on unceded Wolastoqiyik territory in New Brunswick. Here they have resettled off-grid with their family of people and animals, to grow food and practice other forms of underconsumption. Russell is the author of chapbooks, BRICKWORKS (Frog Hollow Press 2021), and English Garden Bondage (above/ground press 2022), and their work can be found online and in print. Twitter: @russellcarisse