After the Party
How faintly her body takes on the dress like lint on the air, a faerie mote and the empties take on a form junked on the table. The storm is only over when disabled after the exclamation of the rain, a dancing staccato across the pea shell roofs, the late shadows are finding their way home. The sooner to be not seen. No one will ask where they hunger, where in the blending must they are new at home, formless, sly, one and the same the darkness massed. Wetting thought with memory on the morning climb, the heights are hid, dreaming of colour in the later sun, fingering the limn the shadows slope into the trees, the unrendered reign of dark parked for later like high hats. The birdsong still half sleeping. Inductively one foot in yesterday. In the coffee scented morn' now with a bay tan ablated from the warm leathette, I have heard a field of vaginas praying talk to the very coloured sun. Her ova hid. Have I pitched a hide and out waited the wait inside? But no they will not show no kiss and tell but in malarkey grow, my back so turned I cannot chase them home withhold the perfumed air or rid us of the pollinating chair. Back to the front, shape shifter that I am my depleted face to hand, I decided to be a tourist without direction or distance or time so I will parley only to names, a knuckle slug lying to my DNA I ran.
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Author's Note
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Some inventive use of language here. The end bit (from "her ova hid' on) is very strong with a nice, insistent rhythm.
It floats in and out of where I can, or think I can, grasp the pictures you are trying to paint.
As flash goes, this is flashy!
Thank you Sally and Steve for your comments.
Starting to read through your pieces - you seem to take some of your syntax ideas from Elizabethan poetry (eg '..to the very coloured sun'). A foretaste of this is cued early on with 'faerie mote '. But your antecedents seem varied (eg Barth here in the final sentence first half). Reads almost as though written as poem then lines prosified, so associative and word inverted it is, with some rhyming to boot. Enjoyed reading it.
OK so i went out and bought an Elizabethan poetry anthology! Barth-Tidewater Chronicles is wonderful. I do do write it out as if single lines to see where rhythm and sound fall but i just see writing. i want it to be lyric without rules and even sometimes with them. Thank you for comments, made me think and if you have odd examples of mad syntax where subject and object are bamboozled please share!